From the moment I first heard you sing
by bassgoddess
Summary: OK, so this is another stab at a fan fic. This chronicles the start of Erik and Christine's relationship, as well as the steamy stuff I know you all want. Well I do, after seeing Gerard Butler! YUM!
1. Default Chapter

Christine Daae absently pulled at the fraying ends of the pink ribbon of her pointe shoes.

"Meg", she whispered, turning to her friend beside her. "I suppose I will never be a prima if I cannot manage even this simple routine."

Her friend whispered back, "I will show you later. But I'm afraid I must watch and learn first myself!" Meg's eyes were on her mother, Madame Giry, the ballet mistress, who was breaking down the dance section in Act Two of Alceste into eight-counts.

"The first four, please!" Madame Giry called, stamping her cane on the stage for effect. She liked to appear more stern than she really was in an effort to keep all the girls in line. Disrespect, not practicing, and talking during class were not to be tolerated in any manner. Giry waved a hand towards the girls, indicating they should step forward to their first mark. Amelie, Pascale, Sophie and Vanessa stood gracefully and walked forward, their feet coming to rest at their marks, their toes properly turned out.

"Five, six, seven, eight…" she counted, clapping her hands in time as the rehearsal accompanist began to play his reduction of the full score.

The four girls seemed to float on the surface of the stage, skimming it beautifully. They moved through the combination. Tombe….pas de bourre….glisse…..assemble….

Christine watched Sophie in particular, her fouettes and pirouettes coming effortlessly out of the girl's body.

"Next line, please."

It was Meg's turn now, and she turned to Christine, squeezing her hand quickly in reassurance as she moved to her spot on stage. As the combination began again, Christine noted that Meg was probably the best dancer in the corps, even better than Sophie, who was older. Meg's body was always perfectly balanced, her poses and movements executed with the utmost grace. Christine watched her friend, envious. 'If only there could be something I am good at,' she thought to herself, sadly.

"Last line!"

Christine's head shot up as she gingerly took her position between Adrienne and Claire, with Emmanuelle at the far stage left end.

"Five, six, seven, eight…"

Christine moved through the first section of the combination, but she felt the effort behind each movement. She was struggling. By the time she got to the first series of fouettes, she had already lost her concentration, for she was one count behind the music. As she rose en pointe, pirouetting, she forgot her "spotting", and grew dizzy, falling ungracefully off pointe and onto the stage floor. The pain that was slowly burning her left ankle was not helped by Mme. Giry's harsh tone as she clapped her hands, signaling for everyone to stop dancing.

"Miss Daae! Perhaps you would be better off taking another five years of classes before thinking of setting foot on an opera house stage!" As she looked at the girl, still on the floor, one leg twisted behind her, she softened her tone.

"Are you alright?"

Christine nodded slowly, embarrassed. Everyone was looking at her. A couple of the girls were whispering, snickering at her expense.

"Meg, come here please," she commanded, as Meg approached, concern in her eyes. "Please get some ice for her ankle. It is undoubtedly sprained, and it would be wise to stop the swelling before it starts." Meg nodded and ran off in search of ice, as Giry turned her gaze back to Christine. "You will watch the rest of the rehearsal, yes?"

Christine nodded again, still too ashamed to speak.

His heart went out to the girl. This was the first opera she would be performing in, and, thus far, she was not doing well. True, she did not have much natural talent for dancing (as he had observed), but she seemed to have such a great deal of heart, that he wanted her to succeed.

He had been intrigued by her since she first came to the ballet dormitories, years before. She was an orphan. Her father had been a violinist. He felt a protective pull towards her when she arrived for two reasons, the first being she had music running through her veins, and the second, because she, like himself, was also alone in the world. He had formed an unlikely friendship with the young girl almost immediately.

She had been crying for her father alone in the cold chapel. Giry, who was quite stern would not comfort the girl, believing that doing so would ultimately result in Christine growing to be a weak woman. Something about the girl crying had touched his heart, and he spoke to her then.

Apparently, her father had told her upon his death he would send her the Angel of Music. She had told him this over and over for the better part of an hour, when he stopped her, telling her, "I am your Angel of Music." From then on she drew comfort in their friendship. He had not meant to deceive her, but to offer her some solace in this cold world she was going to have to face. He would be her friend, her guide and mentor.

He never appeared to her. He would only speak to her in the chapel, in her dressing room, or in the dormitories if there was no one else around. He was careful not to make his visits too frequent as he knew she did have to learn to fend for herself. He swore her to secrecy about his existence, and kept and eye on her always.

This particular afternoon as he watched her from Box Five, he felt a more acute degree of sympathy towards her. She had been telling him not but a week earlier how she was "improving massively" in classes and hoped one day to take over for La Sorrelli. Now she sat, one leg dangling dejectedly over the edge of the stage, and she looked so deflated that he had to turn his eyes away for a moment. He decided he would speak with her later to console her. He looked down and saw her friend, running towards her with the proferred ice pack. He watched the tiny dancer apply it tenderly to her ankle, and with a last look, he was gone.


	2. Chapter two

He watched her silently, careful not to betray his presence. She sat at her dressing table, one leg up on the vanity table, icing her ankle. A tear ran down her cheek and she quickly flicked it away. He noted, with some sadness, that she was very good at disguising her tears. It was almost impossible to tell if she was crying or not, as her upper body did not seem to move, and she did not sniffle. She spoke to herself sometimes, which bothered him usually, but today it just served to fill him with sadness at her words. "Papa…I'm sorry….I'm not good at this…I've let you down." She put her head down as she continued to apply the ice, and softly, she began to hum a tune, this from the opera Xerxes. He recognized the strains of the aria "Ombra mai fu". To his surprise and delight, she was in perfect pitch, her hum clear and pure. She hummed it one time completely through, and then began to sing. "Ombra mai fu…di te vegetabile….cara ed amabile…"

"I did not know you sang," he spoke softly.

She immediately put her leg down, startled that he was there. She grimaced in pain as she unconsciously put weight on it. "Oh, angel, you must not do that! I did not know you were there! My ankle!" She sat back down on her little chair and raised her leg, again icing it.

"I watched the Alceste rehearsals today."

She gave a haughty low laugh. "Well then, you must have seen me make a fool of myself in front of the whole company!"

"You did not make a fool of yourself, Christine, you simply fell off pointe. I was watching. It seemed like you lost concentration as you went into the pirouettes—"

"I am never going to be a ballet dancer!" Her voice burst out on a sob. He grew quiet, as she began to cry softly. "I try and try and I practice so diligently, and…."

He interrupted her gently. "Did you ever think that perhaps your talent lies in another place?"

Her snuffling quieted as she responded. "What do you mean?"

"I heard you singing but a few moments before."

"I was simply humming and I—"

"Your voice is beautiful." He cut her off, and she listened. She knew her angel would never lie to her. "You are in need of training, but the instrument is there." He continued, "Your father was a violinist?"

She nodded. "Papa was a violinist, but he was a conductor and composer too. He could play the pianoforte. Why?"

"You see, child, music does not simply die. It is passed on, down through the generations. You may want to be a ballet prima very badly, but I think your talent may very well lie in music."

She spoke to him again. "Angel, I know you wouldn't lie to me. You've never said I am a wonderful ballet dancer because I know that you see I am not. Am I a wonderful singer?"

He paused a moment before responding. "No. You are not a wonderful singer. But I believe, with the right training, you could grow to be finer than La Carlotta."

She thought about this for a while and she said excitedly, "Angel…you sing! You could teach me," then she grew quieter and chose her words carefully, "I mean…if…if you wanted to teach me…"

"Of course I will teach you." His voice betrayed his growing excitement as he watched her clap her hands together in pure joy. It was the first time she had truly smiled in weeks. "But…you must be an obedient pupil. You must always listen, do as instructed, and practice every moment you have. Those are my terms."

"I will! I will work so hard, I will be the best singer in all of Paris!"

"No, my dear. You will be the best singer on the face of the earth. I will see to it, I promise you."


	3. Chapter three

He had been training her, for two years now. The only other person who knew of their lessons was Mme. Giry, who had, prudently, kept her silence from everyone, including her daughter, Meg. While Giry did everything she could to encourage the young girl in the pursuit of a developed singing voice, she also cautioned her. Christine was, after all, at that age when gentlemen started to take notice. Adele Giry warned her to keep some time for herself, away from her tutor, with whom she seemed to be growing alarmingly close. She knew that no matter how hard he fought against possible feelings for the girl, barely a woman, that he was still a man, after all, capable of a man's free thought and actions. She hoped he would remain the perfect gentleman she had always thought him.

Erik, for his part, did his best to pretend not to notice her figure begin to fill out as she acquired a womanly comeliness in her breasts and hips. He pretended not to watch the subtle movements of her full lips while she sang. His memory yearned for the time when she had absently iced her foot, and he had looked at her dancer's legs and felt nothing.

His thoughts of Christine Daae repulsed him, upset him, and left him at his wits' end. Teacher her without being in the same room was also growing quite difficult and awkward, and although she called to him, requesting his physical presence, he dared not appear to her. He was unsure if he looked upon her beautiful face in person that he'd be able to be accountable for his actions.

Every time he thought of her in some impure way, he would stop immediately, mentally berating himself and rush to his organ where he would play until his fingers were bruised and ragged. He cursed his hideousness and her combination of innocence and radiant beauty as he sat by himself, thinking for hours. He feared she would unknowingly drive him mad.

He would find and read lurid, descriptive stories, detailing all of the sins of the flesh in graphic, provocative detail. He would envision himself and Christine in the stories, free of moral constraints to act out their basest desires. In the stories his mind's eye created she was his consensual partner, his mistress, his lover, his wife.

She was there in his dreams, as well. Wicked, sinful dreams in which her mouth opened beneath his as her naked legs wrapped around his back. He would awaken sporadically, his body aching for release that would not be granted.

Several times he had to cancel their scheduled lessons, for he feared looking at her would surely show his imagined sins clearly on his face.

Christine, of course, was never aware of the inner struggle in her mentor. She viewed him as complex and strange, but an angel above all else, though she had doubts as to his non-physical existence. One evening, after telling her friend Meg of her tutor, Meg proceeded to ask her if he had made her do "the things the ballet rats speak of". Christine was quite perplexed, and it was Meg that gave her a first understanding of the bare bones of intimacy between a man and a woman. Christine had been both intrigued and repulsed to learn of the things which transpire between a man and woman.

"Meg, that is the most distasteful thing I have ever heard!" she cried to her friend.

"Then he doesn't—"

"No! My angel would never make me do anything I didn't want to….we shouldn't even be speaking of him, I told you, he promised me not to tell you that he exists!"

"I don't think angels can anyway. They are not real men or women. They are just…angels," Meg said, thoughtfully. "Don't worry, Christine, I haven't told anyone. Maman knows somehow."

"Well, don't tell anyone! Don't even speak to your mother!"

Meg agreed quietly, and they spoke no more of the Angel of Music. Christine went to her bed as she pondered the things that Meg had spoke to her about. Her cheeks grew hot as she thought that her friend thought she and her angel had….

Then she thought of her Angel, and what Meg had spoke of, and she grew restless and disqueted before drifting off to a troubled sleep.


	4. Chapter four

He was murmuring her name over and over, his breath hot on her ear, the side of her neck, her breasts. She was moaning, crying into his mouth as they kissed, his tongue reaching out to touch and caress hers. Her hands ran through his hair as he pulled her to him tightly, whispering unspeakable things in her ear. His hands went to her shoulders and started shaking her as she struggled, then awoke to find Meg shaking her roughly.

"Christine…you were having a nightmare!" Meg spoke quietly but with concern. "You cried out and were thrashing about! Are you alright?"

Christine sat up, bathed in sweat, her eyes roaming about the room searching for him, the flesh between her thighs throbbing wildly. "Yes," she panted, "…a nightmare…."

The next day in Hannibal rehearsals, Christine could barely think. Her mind was on the kiss that left her shaken and wanting in her dream. She kept an eye on the dancers in front of her as she leaned over and spoke to her friend.

"Meg," she whispered, "you remember….about that…that thing we talked about yesterday?"

Meg replied, her eyes glued to the pas de deux in front of her. "Yes…what about it?"

"Well, how do men and women…how are they able to…I mean, if they are both standing then then man is probably much taller, and they wouldn't…they wouldn't….line up correctly…"

Meg giggled and turned to Christine. "Jammes said that the man will lie atop the woman usually. There are other variations, but that's what she's done mostly."

Christine's mouth formed a silent 'o' and her cheeks grew hot as she imagined what lovemaking must look like.

"My dear Christine…why are you suddenly interested. Was that not you telling me how disgusting you thought the whole ordeal yesterday?"

Christine looked back to the dancing couple as she spoke. "I was just wondering…I….I….was wondering, that's all."

Meg nudged her and spoke, "ready?", indicating the dancers. Christine nodded at her friend and giggled, causing Meg to do the same as they began the first steps of the "slave" dance from Act One of Hannibal.

He was watching her today. He was always watching. She was not a good dancer, but she did possess a certain amount of natural grace. It was perhaps in the tilt of her head or the way she carried her shoulders, but it was there nonetheless. He watched her admiringly as her long hair twisted about her back during a pirouette. Enough! He would think of her no more this afternoon. He had to prepare for their lesson later this evening.

He took extra care in preparing for this evening's lesson. While things were awkward for him, he did not wish to frighten or worry her by any change in their schedule or the tone of his voice. He made himself a steaming cup of Russian tea, and sat, reading Antony and Cleopatra before their lesson.

After rehearsals, Christine had gone to her dressing room after borrowing one of Meg's lurid romance novels. She could attribute her recent curiosity to her dream, but also something else. Madame Molloy, the costumer, had commented how her costume had to be let out a bit at the bust and hips. Christine had thought nothing of it originally, but now, did notice her body was changing. She noticed because her balance seemed to shift ever so slightly. During the ballet routines, she felt the need to reposition her weight every once in awhile. She was still so slight that she doubted she would ever fill out a corset like La Carlotta. Never minding anyway, she set to the task of bathing before her lesson.

Normally she just "attended" her lesson in her dressing gown and robe, but she had recently purchased a new blue muslin gown that she wanted to wear. She dressed quickly and waited for him to come for their lesson.

"Are you going out this evening, Miss Daae?" his voice echoed softly through her dressing room.

"No," she blushed. "It is a new gown, is all. I….I haven't had a chance to see if I like it."

"It is….most becoming on you." He paused. It couldn't be….had she dressed for him this evening? He must be mistaken. "Now, we shall begin our lesson this evening. The five tone scale on "ah", if you please."

She spoke, interrupting him. "Angel, there is something I have been wanting to ask you for some time now."

"Anything, my child," he said, hoping it would be easy enough to answer.

"What I wanted to ask you is…are you truly an angel? You seem more as if you are made of flesh and bone? Are you both?"

He stopped, unsure of how to respond to her innocent question. He did not speak for several moments which prompted her to say, "Angel…?"

"I am not an angel, no. That is, I am not an apparition. I am a man, but I am here to protect you and tend to you as an angel should." He hoped that his answer would satisfy her curiosity and silently begged her to not ask him anything else.

"Then…do you have many other acquaintances?"

"Yourself and Giry, of course. Many know of me, but only as the Ghost. My reputation precedes me in those instances."

She hesitated, then spoke. "Then, are you very alone?"

She was so kind, so good. Her sweetness pulled at his aching heart. "No, my child, I am not alone. I have my music. I have….," his voice trailed off.

"Angel, do you have a mortal name?"

He paused. "At one time I was called Erik. You may call me that."

"Erik," she spoke slowly. "Then, Erik, am I ever to see you? I mean, will you ever come to stand in front of me?"

He wanted to so badly, but he wanted to remain anonymous for the time being. She had to adjust to the realization that he was mortal first. He was also afraid that his mask would frighten her.

"Perhaps some time in the future I will appear to you. But not this evening."

Her eyes dropped, dejectedly. He saw a glimmer of hope in her eyes then, as she spoke, "Perhaps some time in the near future?"

"Perhaps, Miss Daae. Perhaps"


	5. Chapter five

She did not bring up the fact that she had not seen him face to face until a fortnight later. They were vocalizing and she was growing quite impatient with the scales, as the breaks in her voice were emphasized by them.

She stamped her foot, "agh! Angel this is ridiculous! How am I to ever learn these scales when you are not even in the same room as I. This is utterly absurd!" She stamped again, turned and continued stamping across the room.

"Miss Daae!" he bellowed, causing her to freeze. He lowered his tone of voice. "As you are no longer a child, I should like it very much if you would cease to act like one. Not only is your tantrum unbecoming, it is also most unladylike."

Her cheeks flushed, embarrassed by her childish outburst. "I…I suppose I am being rather childish. I apologize….master."

"You needn't call me that. I have a name."

She looked at the floor. "I'm sorry…Erik."

"I accept your apology. We will speak no more of this and move on. The five tone scale on 'eh' starting on C, please."

She opened her mouth to sing but stopped. "Why are you so afraid to be in the same room as me?"

Her wording made him stop. Afraid? Did she know that every waking thought he had was of her? Of her soft lips and delicate breasts and smooth legs?

"I am not afraid." He said strongly. "I am…concerned….you would fear me."

" I could never fear you! How could you think such a thing. Please, Erik…"

"Christine…." She could not see him, but his head was down, trying to conceal the formation of tears at the corners of his eyes. She would fear him. She would scream and she would run and she would wonder what was beneath his mask. She would not wish to study with him further.

"Angel…" she called. "I would not fear you. What do I have to fear? You are all that is kind and good…."

"I wear a mask." There. He said it. He waited, listened, and heard nothing.

"A mask?"

"Yes. Over the right side of my face."

"But why?"

He sighed. "Not all of us are blessed with such beauty as you possess, Christine."

"You are unsightly, then?"

He cleared his throat and did not speak. She spoke. " I do not care if you are not beautiful, Erik. I just wish our lessons to be less awkward, and I wish to know you."

"Christine-"

"Once, you told me that you could deny me nothing. Would you deny me this—triviality now?"

Erik was deathly afraid. He was just about to walk through her mirror when he stopped. If he were to walk there, through the mirror, he would surely take her small body in his arms. He would kiss her and taste her, and he would lay her down and make love to her. God help him, he would. He would not be able to stop.

"It is not so easy-"

"But it is, Erik. Please…for me-"

His chest grew tight as he felt his pulse speed up.

"Christine, you know not what you ask," he replied hoarsely.

"Yes I do. I—"

"Things would change, Christine," his voice felt strained, forced.

"Erik, I do not understand. You-"

"I would want…more…"


	6. Chapter six

The silence hung between them, open and empty, stretching indefinitely. The air seemed to hum with an unspoken yearning, a realization that things could change very quickly.

Christine's tongue darted out to wet her lips. She took a deep breath. "More?" she stammered, her voice no more than a whisper. Was this the 'more' she heard tales of from the ballet rats late in the dormitories? Was this the 'more' that Jammes told Meg about? A vision of her dream came into her head unexpectedly and she cleared her throat.

She heard no response from the other side of the mirror. Several moments passed and still no sound.

"Angel," she ventured softly.

"I am here," he replied.

Another precious few moments passed in silence. Christine spoke first. "When you say…more…."

He responded tersely, almost too immediately, "I simply meant more. Exactly as I said it. How you choose to interpret it is best left to you."

What was he doing? He was ruined everything! There was no way she would consent to continue lessons, now that she had an inkling of his true feelings for her. The awkward silence which had marked most of the evening ensued, and he wondered if she did really know what he was talking about. He wasn't exactly sure himself. As he thought on the last seconds of their conversation, he grew to believe that perhaps he did not reveal as much as he thought. There was a good chance she would assume, in her naivete, that he was referring to more time for studies, or perhaps more commitment to lessons, or any number of things. Not wishing to prolong the interminable awkwardness, he spoke.

"I will take my leave of you for the evening, Miss Daae. I shall return for our regular lesson tomorrow, if that is to your liking."

"My liking? Why, of course," she spoke, confusion clearly evident in her voice. "I…I suppose I shall see you tomorrow then." She paused, waiting for a response. "Angel?" She called after him, but it was obvious that he had already gone.

Christine may have been naïve in many ways, however, there was no mistaking the intention she heard in his voice when he spoke of 'more'. Had she misinterpreted his meaning? She should be repulsed, she should be furious, but instead she felt warm…

Her cheeks blushed furiously as she turned away from her mirror and walked to her dressing table. Was she thinking of he, her mentor, her guide and tutor, in 'that' way? As a potential suitor or mate? She had known him for a good many years, and she found comfort in the time they spent together, but could she be feeling something else for him? Yes, perhaps she could. Something…more….

……………………………………………………………………………

The next day in Hannibal rehearsals, she felt ill rested and quite upset to even be there. She longed for the solace of her bedroom, or at least a pillow on which she could lay her head.

La Carlotta was finally being added to the rehearsals, the dress rehearsal of all days, and it was going slower than expected.

The orchestra sounded very crisp, but less enthusiastic than they had been five hours ago. Five hours and they had only staged the first half of act one!

Christine took her place, 'handcuffed' to Meg and began the routine. Monsieur Reyer appeared with two gentlemen that neither of the girls recognized, and proceeded to introduce them as the new managers of the Opera Populaire. They, in turn, introduced the new patron. A tall, fair haired man walked out on the stage. He was quickly introduced to both Carlotta and Piangi. Carlotta, of course, immediately believed he was in love with her. As Christine's eyes lit on the well dressed gentleman, she let out a small gasp, pulling Meg to her side. Her heart surely skipped a beat. She felt a million familiar feelings rushing back to her. Raoul rushing in the sea to save her red scarf, she and he eating chocolates together, the both of them listening as her father played the violin and told them stories.

"It's Raoul! Before my father died…he….the cabin by the sea! He used to call me Little Lotte."

Meg turned to her friend, her eyes shining. "Christine, he's so handsome."

Christine watched him speak about what an honor it was to support the Opera Populaire, and make small talk and pleasantries with all who mattered. She wore a dreamy smile as she regarded with appreciation the boy she used to know, who had grown into a fine man. She tried to approach him, but he was on his way out the door, in conversation with several people. Her face fell, as he passed, showing no signs of recognition, and Meg noticed this.

"He wouldn't recognize me," she said to Meg softly.

"He didn't see you," she responded, in an effort to comfort her friend.

Giry clapped her hands, meaning for the girls to resume their dance, as the bustle and small talk died down, and the managers went to the front of the stage to watch the dress rehearsal.

He had seen her face fall as the young man had passed her by. He knew she spoke to her friend of him. Had they been lovers? Friends? He did not like this at all, and he moved silently among the stage set flies as he felt his anger threaten to manifest itself.

Carlotta was making a fuss as usual; she somehow thought that she was being overlooked. As if she could wearing over sixty yards of fabric with a headpiece nearly two feet high. When she threatened to leave, the managers tried to persuade her; coerce her to stay, and finally it was decided she would perform for them the aria from act three of the opera.

She took her place center stage (of course), and began to sing in her shrill, overembellished tone.

"Think of me-ah, think of me fondly when we've said goooooooooooodbye……."

Monsieur Firmin chose this particular moment to close his eyes, as if he was reveling in the beauty of the sustained note, when in reality, he was simply groveling.

"Remember me, once in a while, please promise-ah me-ah yoooooooooooooooooou'll try…"

It was all Christine could do to keep from rolling her eyes. Meg poked at her playfully.

"When you find-ah, that once again you long-ah, to take your heart back and be freeeeeeeeeee…."

What happened next was hard to say. It all happened so fast. A huge portion of the upstage set fly fell somehow, on top of the rear of Carlotta's skirt, while several of the girls screamed out, and ran stage left. Carlotta was knocked off her feet, to the stage floor, and a general panic ensued. Christine did not notice the shadow from above heading towards the roof door. Meg held on to her tightly.

He smiled at the scene unfolding before him. It was just as he had planned. He could not have executed the fall of the set piece any better. Carlotta threw the requisite tantrum and stormed off stage, leaving the managers to seek out the understudy. Of course, there conveniently was no understudy, as Carlotta would not have it. She would either perform, or no one would.

As one of the managers threw his hands in the air, Erik assumed that they had just realized they would have to refund tickets for a full house, as the opera was packed. He emitted a small chuckle from deep in the back of his throat. Giry stepped forward, the brave woman, his mouthpiece at the Opera Populaire, and innocently suggested none other than his Christine Daae. He watched her friend absently take her hand as she was frightened at first, but she released Meg's hand and stepped forward. They had rehearsed this aria perhaps a hundred times. His heart began to swell with pride. 'Everything is up to you now, my dear', he thought to himself.

She momentarily glanced behind her, seeking comfort from Giry, who nodded, a smile on her face. Then, as the introduction was played, she opened her mouth and emitted the most beautiful, angelic soprano that he had ever heard. And the managers knew they had found a replacement.

He smiled. He was so pleased with her. Her voice had been nearly flawless. She had positively glowed on stage. You could not tear your eyes away from her. He would tell her….he would tell her so many things he was feeling at their lesson tomorrow.


	7. Chapter seven

As the opera opening was scheduled for the night after the dress rehearsal, Erik took it upon himself to go to Christine in the early afternoon.

He had not thought that Carlotta would have left so abruptly; his intention had been merely to scare her. All the same, he was glad that he made Christine learn the role of Elissa in Hannibal.

It amazed him how she was quickly becoming his drug; that is, the more they were apart, the more he craved, no, _needed_ her presence. He laughed at himself, his schoolboy's fantasies, and took special care in dressing, even though he would not have the courage to reveal himself to her. But he could imagine…

He approached the mirror quietly, holding his breath as she came into view. She was playing with her hair, twirling it, coiling it up and around her beautiful face as he watched, not daring to speak and ruin the intimacy of the moment. She gently forced several pins into place, securing the coil at the top of her head. That done, she stood, walking away from her dressing table, and began working at the knot that held her dressing robe.

He watched so intently, he nearly forgot to look away as she let one sleeve of the robe drop, exposing a creamy white shoulder to his adoring gaze. Realizing she was meaning to undress, he looked down, fidgeting with the button on the outside of his cuff, and took the opportunity to speak.

"You have studied both the libretto and the score, yes," he questioned.

Christine let out a small gasp, immediately pulling the shoulder of the robe back to its original place. Her hand stilled over her heart.

"You mustn't sneak up on me like that. You…startled me." He began to speak but she cut him off. "And besides that…it is most…improper…"

He did not speak, for he saw the color creep into her cheeks, saw her hand instinctively pull the front of the dressing gown completely over her chest as she dropped her head. "I…you cannot….," she started, but her voice trailed off, and with it, her hand slowly moved to the side of her neck, which she began to knead. It was such a deliberate, sensual motion that his eyes were riveted to that hand. He knew it was an unconscious motion, but the thought it was excited him even more. You see, to Erik, it showed that she had an innate sensuality to her, to everything she did, to every way she moved.

His throat was dry, unbearably so. He could hear his breath, raspy as it passed his lips. When he spoke next, he was afraid his voice would betray his…thoughts.

"You…you have studied both," he asked again, in a desperate attempt to change the situation.

All the while he had wondered at this change in her behaviour. She seemed to bring up the very topics he himself had wondered about, but had been too afraid to speak of. Perhaps she was just maturing, but perhaps, she felt something else…

"Yes, I have, Erik." She cleared her throat as her hand dropped from her neck, almost as if she had been snapped back into reality. "I am…excited, but I am ever so nervous. Not only that I might make a mistake, but that….well the audience is expecting La Carlotta. They may not like me before I even step foot on stage because I am not her."

"Do not give her supernatural powers, Christine. She is good only because of her reputation. It is true that at one time she was simply breathtaking on stage. Now, I doubt if there are opera goers who do not yearn for a replacement."

She pondered this for a moment, then asked, "you think so?"

"Oh yes, quite. Carlotta was a fine singer in her prime, which is now past. If she grew to embrace humility and abandon her histrionics, I would assume her career would still be assured. As it is, the opera house seems to be begging for a new ingenue."

She did not respond, so he added, as a joke, "although, seeing you play opposite Signore Piangi will probably read to the audience as a tale along the lines of Jonah and the whale."

She laughed, and it was a wonderful, spontaneous thing. She did not force it in any way which made it all the more beautiful. He loved the way her hair was lit by the candles in her dressing room and the tiny dimples that formed near the corners of her mouth. And her laugh! It was such a beautiful sound that even her laugh could make the angels weep. Gradually, her laughter subsided and her eyes grew serious.

"I do so hope I do not disappoint you tonight," she said quietly.

He spoke then, his voice no more than a whisper. "I did not know that my disappointment would play such a large part in your mind."

She responded, "Of course. You always are in my mind."

Neither of them spoke for several moments longer than would be comfortable, and Erik broke the silence. "Christine, you could never disappoint me. Regardless of what you did or did not do. Not ever."

For some reason, his answer was not enough, not for Christine. She spoke to him again, innocently yet pointedly, " I never fail to…please you then?"

He gritted his teeth as his fingernails unconsciously drove themselves into his palms. He exhaled once, twice, a third time. Then he responded brusquely, "no, you do not."

Why did she play these games? Did she not know the yearning in his heart? Did she not know that toying with her Angel thusly was bound to be his ruin, his heartbreak?

She somehow sensed the uncomfortable tension in his voice and decided not to speak at this particular moment. He swallowed, tried to clear his head, and ignore the blood pounding in his ears. He would not distract her tonight. This evening meant too much for her. This would be her debut, and he would not be the cause of any undue stress. She already had more than enough to worry about. Somehow, his feelings for her enabled him to push past his desire to tell her exactly what he felt, and instead spoke simply.

"We shall start at the beginning of Act Three since it is the most demanding, and work our way backward."

She said nothing. Everything about the opera was secondary in this moment. She was curious, she wanted to know, she wanted him to talk to her and explain this recent awkwardness between them. She needed it defined for her in some childlike manner. She had to know why he haunted her dream and why when she thought of singing tonight, she thought only of pleasing him.

"Erik, do I make you happy?"

He did not make a concerted effort to say, "yes", but the word somehow slipped out of its own accord. He drew a quick breath, as if he could somehow pull the word back into his mouth. His voice came out, nearly silent. "Act Three if you please—"

"Do you ever think of me as a woman?"

What was she doing? Madness. Divine, insane madness. Even if he never touched her, never loved her, in this one moment, he felt she was his. His heart sped up and his palms clenched, moistness forming between the fingers. 'Please, don't respond', he told his lips, his mouth, his tongue.

Christine heard no answer from the other side of the glass. She wondered if this had been too bold on her part; if this was something that women and men do not discuss. But then again, she didn't really know; her knowledge of the opposite sex came almost solely from him. He was the only male she really knew and spoke with regularly.

Erik spoke, breaking the silence. Agitation rung in his voice as he responded, "Of course I think of you as a woman, you are a woman. What an absurd question!" He could have won an award for his artful dodging of her true question. He licked his lips again and found them dry, cracking, as before. He gently ran his hands down his trouser legs, losing the moisture which had accumulated in the process.

"Miss Daae-"

She spoke, her voice a little more harsh this time. It would be a question for which he had no answer. "Erik, do you have….affection towards me?"

What could he do? Respond in truth and lose her trust, along with everything they had worked so hard for? Or lie? Lying was perhaps the most dangerous game of all. To leave her unknowing of his true intentions. His mind seemed to race more rapidly than it ever had, and he wished he could simply run. After taking a moment to compose himself (and with solid resolve), he spoke gruffly.

"I will not answer any more of these ridiculous questions. Since you seem to be thoroughly uninterested in preparing for this evening's performance, I am just as uninterested in taking the time to tutor you. I wish you all the best of luck this evening, Miss Daae, now good day."

She had to stop him! Did he not feel the same? She didn't even know what she felt, just that it was a different sort of a feeling, and that she had it whenever he was involved. It was both her curiosity and the desire to have him stay which led her to suddenly blurt out, "Erik!"

She heard him stop moving from behind the mirror. Her heart was racing and she was breathing heavily.

"Do you still wish for…something more?"

Heat flooded his head, his chest, down to his hands, his feet. With unmistakable lust in his voice he spoke quietly.

"More? I always want more, Christine."

She paused as she thought out her words carefully. She spoke, the heat latent in her voice.

"Erik…come to me now."


	8. Chapter eight

"No."

He watched her shoulders drop, and her lips, which had parted, close. A thousand thoughts ran through his head, and yet, he could not go to her. He would not ruin her; body, mind or otherwise. She was his angel, to be cherished and held above all. If she saw him, saw the mask, instead of simply hearing tell of it, she would fear him. She would grow to loathe him for ever revealing himself, as the dream, the idea was that much sweeter.

In a more complex matter, he worried for her. She had seemed rather, well, forward these last few weeks. He attributed it to her physical and mental maturation, but it concerned him. Would she just say these things to any man? Or were her feelings unique to him? He feared another man in his situation might take advantage of her weakness. Not he. He was being strong for her. Because she would surely regret what could transpire between them. As he said, "no" to her, his world shattered. His heart crushed and ached, for he realized that this would be the closest he would ever get to Christine Daae.

He watched her, still slumped over, and she slowly brought her head back up, running her hands along the sides of her face and back through the hair as if she had a headache. She was not crying but her eyes were moist. "I…I…," she tried to find words but couldn't.

"Christine….we….you have to perform in a short while, and I do not wish to disturb your preparation. Perhaps I…"

Her chin tilted up in that way he loved as she angrily cut him off. "Perhaps you should leave me alone so I can prepare then."

Fighting back the bile that rose in his throat as he believed there was a chance she would never entertain him again, he spoke quickly. "Then I shall leave you to prepare. I….I apologize for keeping you from it."

He nearly ran away from the mirror. Away from her, running, running almost as if he could run away from his mask.

………………………………………………………………………………..

What was wrong with her? Why had she been so angry with him? Christine did not know what she was feeling. She was confused, she was enraged, but most of all, she had the strangest feeling that she would never see him again; a sad, hopeless feeling which was just awful. She felt so warm when he spoke to her. Her body craved his touch. She did not know why. It was a strange, foreign feeling which both frightened and excited her.

She had been moody as well. Tired one moment, angry the next, chasing after her tutor as well; did it never end? She was always upset about something, always bawling in the dormitories…and about what? Nothing!

Trying to remember she was angry, she turned away from the mirror in disgust. What would she do if he had come through it? She probably would have stood there like the wretched little member of the corps that she was and been sullen. Probably.

All of a sudden, an extreme sadness crept over her. She had been so unkind to him. She had cornered him with questions, ignored his tutelage, and asked him some very personal things. And he had been patient mostly. Now he would probably never return.

Christine went to her dressing table to start getting ready for the show. Although she feared she would lose her friendship and bond with her tutor, she knew that regardless, he would be watching her this evening.

………………………………………………………………………………..

Perhaps the worst feeling in the world is stage fright. Christine discovered this almost fifteen minutes prior to curtain. What if her voice fell flat? Or if she forgot stage blocking? She tried to clear her head and concentrate at the task at hand. She glanced over at Meg, who had offered to remain with her until the first dance combination, and Christine had been ever so glad for her comfort.

As Meg prepared to go onstage, she gave her friend a quick kiss on the cheek, and gracefully took her position. Five…six….seven…eight….

Christine watched the dancers, waiting for her cue. Her mind was replaying lessons she had with Erik. 'Remember to let go on top,' he had always said of the high notes. She tried to get her muscles to relax, then, took a deep breath and entered from stage right.

The opera went off without a hitch. It could not have been better if Christine had three months time to study it. She was perfect, her voice effortless, her presence graceful. The role suited her well. Erik's heart swelled at the final cadenza in her aria from Act Three, "Think of me". The whole audience was at their feet applauding wildly. Mssrs. Andre and Firmin's box echoed with "brava…..magnifica….stupenda……".

The close of the opera brought much confusion. The audience was atwitter about the new ingenue. Christine had to take her bows twice! Mme Giry helped her to her dressing room, dodging the other performers cries of "brava!".

As soon as the door was closed behind them, Giry spoke to her. "You did very well my dear," she moved to the dressing table where she picked up the red rose he had left in her vase as an apology and a token of congratulation. She walked to Christine and presented it to her. "He is pleased."

Christine took the rose in her hand, studying it. How had he gotten a rose in her dressing room? Was he going to remain her tutor?

Mme Giry left, squeezing out through the throng of people trying to get in the dressing room. As Christine gently touched the velvety softness of the petals, she heard the door again. She was hunched over, admiring the black-redness of the flower when her thoughts were interrupted by a voice from the past.

"Little Lotte, let her mind wander."

Raoul. Her face lit up! Her friend! She had not seen him in so long. He had noticed her!

"Little Lotte thought….am I fonder of dolls or of goblins, or shoes, or of riddles or frocks…"

"Raoul," she said simply, beaming at her guest.

"…or of chocolates."

She remembered their times together, and spoke. "Those picnics in the attic….Father playing the violin…"

"…as we told to each other dark stories of the north…"

Raoul approached her, sensing the invitation in the warmth of her smile.

"No, what I love best, Lotte said, is when I am asleep in my bed and the angel of music sings songs in my head…"

He echoed her last statement. "The Angel of Music sings songs in my head."

Raoul kneeled by her side at her table, bringing her in for an embrace. He was so amazingly handsome, she could not believe it was the same boy. He spoke to her. "You sang like an angel tonight."

"You remember that father said, 'when I am in heaven, child, I will send you the angel of music'?".

Raoul nodded, amusement marked on his face, as she continued. "Well, father is dead, Raoul, and I have been visited by the angel of music."

"Oh, there's no doubt about it! And now, we go to supper!"

"Wait, Raoul! The angel of music is very strict."

"Then I shan't keep you out late." He turned and laughed. "Come, you must change! I'll order my carriage, Little Lotte. Two minutes!"

He closed the door behind him, choosing not to hear her protests. "Wait, Raoul!"

………………………………………………………………………………..

The only witness to Erik's locking of her dressing room door was Mme Giry, who would, of course, keep her silence.

Christine set about changing out of her costume into her dressing gown so she could select a dress for supper. As she came out from behind her dressing screen, she noticed the candles going out. The air hummed with excitement as his voice boomed aloud, "Who is that insolent boy who dares to bask in your glory?"

She did not respond, as something in his tone frightened her. "The ignorant fool tries to share in my triumph!"

She spoke back to him. "Erik, I hear you and I want no more of this. I asked you once….please….you are my angel….reveal to me your glory…."

His voice adopted a more calm tone as she seemed to assuage him. "Flattering child, you shall know me tonight. You will see why I have not dared come to you before. Christine, look at your face in the mirror…."

She was almost afraid too. Her eyes slowly raised to the mirror. She saw nothing, save the same glass she had always viewed. Then she heard him say, "I am there, inside…."

Somehow, the glass seemed to open, and he was revealed to her. Almost in a trance, her eyes fixed on him, she spoke softly. "Angel of music…..Erik?"

He held her gaze with his eyes. In it, he poured all of his darkest thoughts. His obsession with her. His innermost desires. She did not look away. She was trapped in his stare, powerless. He wanted her to know his true intentions. And yet, she was not afraid of the mask. It did not seem to affect the way she looked at him at all. It was a look of disbelief, as if she had not known he would be a man.

Christine was transfixed. The mask had not even calculated in her thoughts. She wanted to go to him and learn to bond with him as a person, rather than an angel. She was mesmerized by the smooth slope of cheek, the masculine cheekbones, the full lips. He was quite tall, taller than most men, and impeccably dressed. But mostly, she noticed his eyes. They seemed to stare right through her, to her very being and back again. She moved, taking a step forward. Nothing registered in her mind save the fact that he was here! Her angel, her friend and tutor! He was standing before her! She was so grateful to see him she could have died happy in this moment!

He had seen her small step forward. No emotion at all, except perhaps wonderment had crossed her face. She did not break his gaze, his stare. His lips parted as he calculated what to do next. "I am your angel of music…"

He held out his hand to her, as she approached, still appearing as if she was in a trance. "Come to me, angel of music…."

He heard the boy pounding on the other side of the door, his voice raised in alarm, but as he regarded her face, he realized she did not. She brought her hand close to his, but hesitated, pulling back slightly before gently placing her palm in his. He gripped her hand strongly, as he let out a long sigh of relief. She was here. His angel, his everything, and without fear. And now, she would know him. She was touching his hand, and yet there was still more. So much…more….


	9. Chapter nine

It was true she had not heard Raoul as he pounded on her dressing room door, desperately trying to determine her safety. The reason she did not hear Raoul was simple: she had been staring into _his _eyes. His eyes seemed to hold her in place, freeze all her thoughts to thoughts of him, well, thoughts of…them…together…evil thoughts. Her mind was screaming but she dared not look away. Her brain ceased to function of its own accord and seemed to be consumed by two simple actions; to continue to grasp his hand, and to follow him, wherever he led.

Erik wished he could pinch himself to make certain he did not dream. Yet, as he constantly looked behind him, she was still there, holding his hand gently as he led her deeper into the depths of the theatre basements. She seemed mesmerized by him, by everything he did, which excited him; his eyes reflected a combination of amazement and lust.

He was leading her down, down….the stone hallway's floor was sloping, but to her, it was almost as if she was walking in a dream. A beautiful, sensual dream she did not wish to wake from. And he was there every step of the way, holding her hand, guiding her. The gentleness of his grasp startled her; his touch so light it was almost as if they would be torn apart at any moment, but they never were.

Cesar, his horse was stationed at the base of this last hallway, waiting. Christine paused as she saw him, but was gently urged on by the warmth of his gloved hand. As they drew nearer, he moved her in front of him. As she looked up at the saddle, he slowly brought his hand towards the small of her back. She turned so she faced the horse, her back to him.

She was even tinier than he had imagined, for it seemed his hands might meet if he put them around her waist. His hand drew near to the embroidery of her gown, and for a brief moment, reality struck. 'She is here. Christine is here. She wants to be here. She wants to be here with me.'

He reached out to touch the back of her dressing gown, but paused for a moment as he took a quick, indrawn breath. 'I am going to touch her,' he thought, 'I am going to touch her body if she lets me.'

His fingers gently glided along the back seam, just grazing the material as he let out a silent moan. He brought his fingers back along the fabric, this time pressing them more firmly across her back. She made a motion to look behind her, and he sensed, for a moment, what he interpreted as discomfort. Gently, he put his right hand to the side of her waist, doing the same with his left. He could feel her breath quicken, as her stomach muscles loosened and tightened beneath his grasp. He slowly stretched the fingers of his right hand open, splaying them across her stomach. She drew in a ragged breath, very uneven, and he closed his eyes.

With his eyes closed, he had to see with his hands. She was breathing in an inconstant fashion, causing his heartbeat to speed. The fingers of his right hand, now open, moved slowly down the curve of her waist, softly stroking her through the fabric of the gown. His movements were slow and small, but seemed to have quite an effect on Christine, who brought her hand up to her waist. Her hand seemed about to come to his, but stop, flutter for a moment, as if in indecision, then slowly run down the front of her dressing robe, down her hip. He knew it then. 'She _wants_ me to touch her body.'

He could not think, could not breathe. He surely held his breath as he stretched the fingers of his left hand the same way. He was kneading her now, kneading the muscles of her abdomen as she took her labored breaths. It was more than he could stand. To feel her muscles writhe and shake beneath his inexperienced hands. Touching her like this was more than he could have imagined.

All of a sudden, she leaned back ever so slowly, as if she wanted to lean against him. Erik took a small step forward as he felt her shoulder touch his chest. Her head rolled back slightly, and he realized that he needed to move. Now.

Firmly grasping her waist, he did what he had originally intended to do. He lifted her into the saddle in a fluid motion, letting his hands run slowly down the horse's body, too afraid to touch her directly. She seemed to sit slightly forward in the saddle, her beautiful lips full, her eyes drinking him in. When he caught her gaze, her lips parted, and realizing she was not repelled at all, decided to touch her again. He brought his right hand up to her tiny stockinged foot, almost afraid to touch it. Holding the stirrup in his left, he took a hold of her foot gently, and slowly brought it into the stirrup. He looked up at her again, and they resumed the descent.

They walked in silence, although he continued to look back at her. It was hard not to in her dressing gown. Cesar's clipping and clopping down the hallway would have seemed comical if he had not turned to see her riding atop the mare, in all her glory. He could not look behind often because he was afraid she would see his momentary glances to her stockinged legs, now clearly visible beneath her gown. Or his eyes, glancing to the top of her corset, to an area a man only her husband should be viewing.

He turned his head around, clenching his teeth together beneath his lips. Looking at her in her present state of undress was more than he could bear. He feared he would go blind from her radiance. It would be a very long evening indeed.

Taking her off Cesar's back proved to be more dangerous than mounting her on it. She let go the reins, turning towards him as he reached his arms out for her. His hands went about her waist, gripping her securely as her hands reached for his shoulders. With her foot in the stirrup to support her weight, she leaned her weight onto her hands, onto him. He moved her slowly so she had time to remove her foot from the stirrup. She was so close to his body, he almost looked away. But he did not as first her legs came into his view, then her stockings, the bottom of her corset. Then he was bringing her down the length of his body, her chest merely inches from his own, the uneven rise and fall of it obvious. As her feet touched the floor, they both realized how close they stood. She was still holding his shoulders and his hands were about her waist. She was trembling, he could feel it. Their faces were mere inches apart. She was shorter than he, and he could feel her hot breath near his neck, the top of his chest. He looked into her eyes. He was greeted with two endless pools of want, _need_….

They stayed like this for several moments. Ignoring the thousand reasons he should not lean in to her, he moved his face forward an inch, then another. She seemed to let out a small breath, and he noticed she shook, very slightly. He could tell by her hair, the glorious curls moving as she shook, almost undiscernable to the naked eye. He watched her gaze betray her, falling to his mouth. She took a breath in, but he himself could not breathe. He watched her lips part, her mouth looking open, inviting and wanting. Her lids were struggling to stay open, lowering, and then reopening quickly. He took a breath, breathing in her delicate scent. He made sure to remember the smell of her; it would haunt him always. Dear God, they were so close, he could just lean forward and…

It was he who took a step back, loosing his grip on her waist, pushing her gently from him. This could not happen. Not like this. He would not have their first kiss be in a darkened corridor like some customer and lady of the night.

Turning his head towards her, he viewed her lips, still parted. It was all he could do to look away. If she was to keep looking at him like this, they would never make it to his home. He would never have the strength to touch her, to place her in his boat, to avoid taking her into his arms, violently, if necessary.

He made a point to avoid touching anything but her hand as he guided her into his boat. They made the rest of the journey in silence. His mind was racing as the boat touched home, in the sewers, the basements of the theater. There were so many things he wanted to do, he realized as he gracefully swung his cape off his shoulders onto the floor.


	10. Chapter ten

Erik spoke then, the first words which had passed between them. "I have brought you here, to the seat of sweet music's throne, where all must pay homage to music."

She did not respond, instead stared back at him from the small boat. He continued, " I have brought you for one purpose; one purpose alone," he took a breath before continuing in a softer tone of voice, "since the moment I first heard you sing, I have needed you with me," realizing he should add something, he did, "to serve me…..to sing, for my music…," he turned away from her, and repeated almost to himself, "my music."

She was still unmoving, her eyes riveted to his form. Slowly he walked towards the boat and extended a hand. She did not hesitate in taking it, gracefully standing and exiting the small vessel. He walked backwards as she followed, heading deeper into his lair; his home. They passed by the diorama he'd made of her in her beautiful white dress, standing in the middle of the opera house stage during her big aria from 'Hannibal'. She looked down in wonderment, smiling at the tiny figure of herself.

Erik motioned for her to come to him with his free hand, and she continued to walk with him until they stopped in front of his organ. After he had stopped walking, she took an additional step, so again there was a short distance between their faces. He drew closer, singing softly into her face, and started walking around her. Her face stayed with his, causing her to turn around as he circled her form. Every time she took a step, turning, there was that awkward moment when she shifted her weight which brought her mouth dangerously close to his.

He watched her eyelids flutter and her mouth open slightly as she followed the circle he was making around her. He stepped away, putting the organ between them. She was watching him with that same dazed look, but the corners of her mouth were turning up at the ends, forming the slightest smile…

She was smiling at him! He quickly walked around the organ until he stood in front of her again. 'Can she belong to me,' he thought. 'Will she consider belonging to me?'

His hands reached out to touch the sides of her face very lightly. She shivered at the moments his black leather gloves came in contact with the microscopic hairs on her face. He leaned in and her heart, which had been beating ever so quickly, stopped. 'He is going to kiss me,' she thought, and then, '..I want him to kiss me.'

Erik did, in fact, come quite close to doing just that. Her brown eyes seemed full and deep. She was transfixed by his gaze, her mind lost in the blue green pools he had for eyes. One of his hands dropped to her waist, and as he moved his head closer, his other hand came to the other side of her waist and gently turned her so her back was against him. The moment their bodies met, she let out a sigh.

Erik guided her right hand up to his unmarred cheek. "Touch me, Christine," he said as he placed her hand against his warm skin. "Trust me…"

Her head rolled back against him, exposing her neck to him again. The sweet scent that wafted through the stale air of his abode came to him again when she did that. Oh, how he could be lost in her forever!

She turned to him and he realized now was the time to show her his true intentions. Still holding her hand which he had pressed to his face moments earlier, he began backing to a separate part of his home. It was a recessed area in the rock that he had hidden from view by a large tapestry cloth. She followed, not questioning, her lids heavy with lust, her mind still a blur.

Gently guiding her in front of him, he pulled back the heavy fabric, bringing the mannequin he'd fashioned to be a replica of her into view. He did not expect her to suddenly slump into his arms the way she did. He thought surely she would be pleased as she saw the beautiful gown he had made, and the mannequin he'd made to look like her. It was an homage, of sorts. Apparently, Christine did not look at it as such.

The weight of her in his arms was so…welcome. She fell back against him, and he caught her, stooping to place an arm beneath her knees. Then, he stood, carrying her to the only place she could comfortably lay. His bed. He took a gulp of air, as he realized that if she had been conscious, this moment would have been the happiest of his life. As it was, he still could think of nothing lovelier. He was holding her gently in his arms, an arm about her shoulders, another arm beneath her legs.

His bed came into view all too soon, and he realized he must part with Christine, it was the only decent thing to do. He placed his right leg on the side of the swan bed for leverage, as he lowered her small body slowly, not wanting to wake her and cause her a start. As her head lolled, finding its place among the pillows, he paused, looking at her sleeping form. He should walk away right now before he did something he would regret. But his eyes would not cooperate. They had a mind of their own as they moved from her feet, over the shapely legs, to the slit of her gown, then to the restrictive corset, the rise and fall of her chest, and finally her face. His eyes had lingered over the legs and corset top the longest; it was hard for him to force his eyes back to her face. As her face came into view, he simply studied her. The poor girl, she had been through so much in one evening. He knew he should turn but he could not resist reaching out to run a gloved hand over the curve of her jaw.

With much restraint, and a gritting of his teeth, he pulled back from her, and stood by the bed. As the curtain around her descended, he realized that he could not be in there with her. Oh, but he dreamt of beauty. But secretly. He would watch her sleep, and admire the beauty that could and might come to be.


	11. Chapter eleven

Erik watched her as she slept for several moments, then, as he felt the blood begin to heat his veins, he tore himself away.

What could he do? Play at his organ? That would surely wake her. Sit and read? Well, that would be something, but he would have to take care to read nothing which featured romantic notions. Passionate whimsy could not be tolerated by his fragile self at this point.

No, best to make some tea and sit. He would make tea, and sit by himself, and maybe he would….

Erik's thoughts trailed off as his gaze drifted to her sleeping form once again. He had held her in his arms as he carried her to his bed, as if she were made of glass, careful not to disturb even a single curl. He watched the rise and fall of her chest, barely visible through the patterned black curtain which hung around the bed as if it offered protection. 'Protection from me', he thought ruefully.

He strode to his work table, where the diorama stood. The dolls for Don Juan Triumphant lay nearby. Figures of he, Christine, Piangi, Carlotta…Yes, he would in essence "block" Don Juan Triumphant. He went about picking up the tiny dolls that would represent all of the actors who would be present. He would figure where he needed to be, where she was and…oh…. His mind raced back to perhaps an hour earlier as he fit his hands around her slender waist, lifting her from Cesar. Her lids had grown heavy as her body betrayed its own want. He knew that much. On some level she did desire him, but, would she ever, no, could she ever learn to accept him as he was?

A small noise sent him looking to the bed yet once more. She was moving. She appeared to be sleeping, but she was crying out something softly. A hand ran up the side of her body into her hair as her brows knit together and she spoke something again. He couldn't understand her, so he ventured the few paces it took to come closer to the bed. It was torture for him to watch her face contort and her arm raise as he stood, helpless next to her.

Erik turned away, running his right hand through his hair, his mind racing. What should he do? He had read someplace once that a child, even if having a nightmare, should not be woken. Perhaps the same would be true of her.

He walked back to the side of the bed, the very spot he had been when he had carried her to it, and spoke softly, "Christine."

He did not wish to wake her, but he thought that his voice might somehow comfort her as she traveled through her dark dreamworld.

For a brief moment, her brows lifted, as if she'd heard him, but it was only a moment before her forehead wrinkled once more and she resumed her small motions. She was definitely dreaming. Erik noted that his voice had seemed to help, and he pulled the cord mechanism, lifting the black curtain that enfolded the bed.

Placing his knee on the side, and his hand near the headboard, he leaned forward ever so slightly. He spoke again, "Christine."

Her eyes fluttered under their heavy lids, and her lips parted. Her body stilled as her eyes began to move underneath their lids. 'The poor girl,' he thought to himself,' I must remember that this may all be too much for her to accept at once.'

He shifted his weight, so he sat where his knee had been, letting to of the headboard; in effect, sitting next to her. He stretched his legs out, letting his lower body slide further down so he could lean closer to her ear. He was but a foot away from her when he spoke her name once more.

Her eyes moved under her lids again, as if in recognition of his voice. Her parted lips turned up at the edges, and her left hand came unconsciously to rest at her breast. He was caught off guard when she rolled onto her right side, bringing her even closer to him. Erik felt the undeniable beginnings of tightness in his lower abdomen, and went to move away, but he couldn't. He was practically lying next to Christine Daae in his bed, and while his mind and instincts battled, ultimately his instincts won.

His hand moved, as if in slow motion to the gentle curve of her chin. The soft leather of his glove just grazed the bottom of it. She felt this and somehow found comfort in the gesture, for she inched her face closer to him. He could feel the blood pounding in his ears as he reached for single exposed ear; her left ear. He reached out to touch the lobe, tracing it slowly and deliberately. Then he traveled up the outside of the ear, as if he were blind and trying to commit it to memory. She murmured something, something he did not understand, but brought his gaze to her mouth. Her lips seemed fuller than he'd remembered. He wondered what her lips would feel like on his own. Would they be feather soft like pillows? Would they be more like velvet rose petals? More importantly, would he ever know?

He did not breathe for a moment as his hand left her ear, traveling down the side of her neck. He began to stroke her softly as he stared at her lips. She would part them, then purse and bring them together, as she seemed to think as she slept. 'What dream world are you in at this moment, Christine? Does it involve your Erik?' He would have died to know what she dreamed of.

His hand ran up and down the exposed length of neck. He brushed away an errant curl, as his gloved fingers resumed their motion. And a single thought came into his head. This was wrong. He should not be sitting so close. He should not be this near to her. Especially while she slept. It was indeed indecent.

She shivered as he stroked her neck, but her lips parted slowly when she did that. Did she enjoy his touch? He wondered. His gaze fell to her mouth once again, as his hand unconsciously seemed to travel there as well. Within a moment his fingers were but an inch away from her mouth. He wondered what it would be like to touch her lips, to feel her. His brain's warnings did not seem to deter his hand from merely brushing against the warm softness. But it was not enough. In a frantic motion, he pulled the glove from his hand. His heart was beating five times the normal speed. The blood pounded at his temples as he laid the glove down on the bed. Almost in slow motion, he brought his fingers to her mouth. A moment's hesitation was soon over as the tip of his index finger met with the welcoming softness of her lips.

All at once the blood seemed to rush out of his head to a place much farther down on his body. His breathing staggered as he silently traced the outline of her lips with the fingers of his right hand. Christine's face took on a look of worry in sleep as her lips moved, trying to form words that would never come. The parting of her lips did not deter him, for Erik was now like a man who is driven mad from want. To be this close and doing this, all the while knowing he would never own her was too much for him. His poor heart would have to slow down if he was to be able to live through the night.

He reached out to touch her bottom lip once more, the briefest of touches. When had his clothing become so heavy, so hot? It felt like he was being weighed down in the yards of fabric. His hand left her lip to adjust his formal cravat, which had become unbearably tight. He pulled it off in an anxious moment, pausing to work the small button at the base of his throat. Again he ran his hand through his hair as he looked at her.

He would surely go mad for his want of her. A few more moments of watching her and he would do what he feared. He would remove his cumbersome clothing hastily and find solace in her cool limbs. He would kiss her and learn all he could about her body; how to please her, how to satiate her, how to make her scream his name. All the frustrations would leave his body in a single moment-and he would be within her, as she accepted him, equally anxious.

Erik stood at once, taking long strides away from the bed, willing his blood to cool, desperately wanting the pounding in his ears to cease. He moved to the organ, but he could not play and wake her, so he moved to his table, but there was nothing for him to do, so he moved to his chair… He was trying to exorcise his nervous energy. Resting his hand and his weight on the back of the chair as he stood, he was roused from his thoughts by her nearly silent sigh. "Erik-"

He froze. She had said his name. Of that he could be sure. But, why? Did she need him and not yet know it? Did she want him? Would she look past his mask to the man that loved her desperately?

He could not think when he heard her utter his name. Instead, he did what his pounding head told him to. He moved to the side of the bed where he had just been, and sat down again, watching her sleep. He slowly leaned in, careful not to startle her, stopping a short distance from her face. Readjusting his arm, so he rested his weight on the other side of her, admiring how she looked partially beneath him, he looked at her one last time. 'Everything will change,' he thought.

His mind took over as he surrendered to everything he wanted and placed his heated lips to hers.


	12. Chapter twelve

Christine immediately felt those lips upon her own. Burning, heated, yet undeniably soft and pleasant. Her subconscious remembered a similar dream in which her music tutor has pressed her body to her dressing room wall as he placed heated kisses about her face. Yes, she remembered how it felt, though now it felt all the more real. Her lips parted instinctively as she dreamed those sinful thoughts and welcomed him into her mouth. But what was this? His tongue was gently meeting and touching her own. This had not happened in her earlier dream. Yet the sensation made her forget thought; forget reason, forget everything…

'She is kissing me. She is letting me in…'

No words, just lips finding their inexperienced ways over each other. Tongues meeting and parting, gently running over one another as mouths grew hungrier. Her head moved and he was placing small kisses along her lower lip. The succulence of it made him gently take it between his lips, wanting to taste that full lower lip. She moaned against him, as they resumed kissing. It should have been awkward. It should have been clumsy, yet it was anything but. His mouth moved instinctively over her own, possessively, owning her mouth and her soul at the same time.

As she felt that moist heat deep in her belly, she was greeted with the first strains of consciousness. She _felt_ the lips on her own, felt the tongue invade her wanton mouth. But this was no dream; nor was this feeling that threatened to consume her. As she regained consciousness she knew before opening her eyes what was happening.

Erik pulled away abruptly when he saw her open her eyes. She was a beautiful sight. Eyes still heavy with dream, swollen pink lips, and her hair, tumbling wildly about her shoulders. He held his breath as she looked at him, concern showing plainly in her eyes.

"Erik-," she stammered. "What are you-,"

She tried to continue but her face flushed as she realized how close he was to her on his bed. He stood immediately and walked away.

"You called out to me, Christine. While you were sleeping. I thought-"

"You thought what," she responded; not angrily.

"I thought you needed me. To…comfort you…," his voice sank to a whisper. "Forgive me. That was most inappropriate."

She thought her words carefully, then responded. "Erik, did you…did you want very much to kiss me?"

He looked up at her with his heated eyes; eyes which bore holes into her very being. "I told you but a few days ago, Christine. From you, I always want…more…."

She looked at the floor as her cheeks flushed. "I….I have never been….kissed before."

So he had been her first kiss. Her revelation both shocked and delighted him. Christine was no wanton, of course, but her first kiss?

She continued, embarrassed. "I mean, I don't know how….well, how one….does it….properly."

He caught her gaze with those eyes she could lose herself in and responded seriously, "Everything you did was correct, Christine." He looked away; he had to. "At least, to me. I myself have been denied…the…" Well, how should he put it? He hoped he would be putting it delicately, unsure of the extent of her knowledge of these matters. He resumed his thoughts. "…the joys of the flesh."

Her voice caught in her throat as she wondered if he often thought of physical intimacy. Did he think of her in that way? Would he instruct her in this, as in everything? Would he care for her pleasure, and teach her to bring him his own?

Christine tried to push the vivid details of Meg's naughty book out of her head. She would not dare to think of these things around him. _Him_. And why did he make her feel this way? He was curious in many ways; he wore a mask to conceal his face, he was unknown to all but a few persons, he had built himself a home in the opera house basements. Yet she could think of nothing else but _him_ when his eyes lit upon her own. It was as if they shared an unspoken connection; a bond that grew even deeper with time.

Her face was still a furious crimson, as she struggled to get out words, thoughts, anything really….

"the…..flesh…."

Her tongue darted out to wet her lower lip. It was as if all the moisture had been sucked from it. She noticed his eyes go to her tongue as she did this. He had to stop looking at her like this. He _had_ to. Or else, she wasn't entirely sure she wouldn't want to give him….more…

And here Erik had thought that the kiss would change things. In reality, the awkward silence which seemed to always exist between them made its appearance yet again.

He tried to look away but couldn't as he watched Christine turn from him, drag her hand up to cup her own cheek as she whispered to herself, "the…flesh…"

"Oh, Christine…"

She turned to him and spoke slowly. "Erik…what do you want from me?"

He seemed taken aback, but she continued anyway.

"I…I am so confused of everything…mostly your role in all this. I cannot pretend that you wish to live through my achievements alone. I know that is not the case. But I wonder what….what you are hoping to gain from teaching me?"

"Christine, I could live for a thousand years basking in the glory of your achievements, and live out my days as a happy man."

He sighed and walked to the armchair in the corner. She admired his masculine gait. It was one of the things she had first noticed when he appeared to her.

"I suppose I would gain a friend, an astute pupil, maybe even one day a companion."

She would have thought it funny, the idea of her prowling around these caverns, but the look in his eyes showed he was not joking.

She sighed and spoke. "Why must everything be so difficult."

Erik looked at her and responded quietly. "It doesn't have to be difficult, Christine. Your life could be quite easy if you wanted it to. I would see to it."

"No, Erik. What I mean is perhaps some things are meant to be difficult. Perhaps some things are difficult so that a person is dissuaded from doing them. These…things, I mean."

He looked her straight in the eyes and asked her, "To which 'things' are you referring?"

Christine was at a loss for words. What was she talking about? Those 'things' they dared not speak while they sat, just the two of them? Her breath hitched as he walked towards her slowly. He sat next to her, on the bed, his feet on the floor. He was so close, and although her mind said 'no' she dared to reach out and touch his forearm gently. He seemed stunned, looked down at her hand, then at her. His hand went to brush the curls which hung forward over her shoulder backwards. He rested his hand on her shoulder when that task was done. His fingers began to stroke the delicate skin at the side of her neck as her breath hitched. Erik spoke, his voice no more than a whisper. "Perhaps you are referring to the 'things' I am thinking of at this moment. Perhaps you are thinking of those 'things'."

She had unwittingly cast him in the role of seducer, a role he was willing, but perhaps underqualified to play.

Erik leaned his face into her ear, and she shivered as she felt his hot breath when he spoke, "I will never dissuade you from doing the 'things' you like, Christine. Be sure of it."

What was he doing? He was boldly touching her, preparing to kiss her. She seemed caught in his spell, unable to refuse. But, perhaps she did not want to refuse him… The idea that she might want him to touch her like this made him shudder.

Blood pounding in his ears, his hands shaking, he leaned into her and gently cupped her head between his hands. Their eyes locked, and she did not pull away when he softly met her lips once more.

She should refuse him. She should pull away. She should do a great many things, but she couldn't. This fire, this _heat_, had to be satiated. Why was it that she could be around Raoul, and be attracted, but not heated, not like this. It was as if her mind refused to obey whenever Erik was near. He owned her, mind, body and soul, she was sure of it.

He parted her lips with his own, hoping his inexperience would not hamper the beauty of their kiss. She made a small sound in the back of her throat, and the unbearable tightness everywhere returned to his body. He pulled her to him as if her kiss was filling his lungs with air. He held her as close as he could. Christine had not even tried to stop him; not even put a hand between them, but allowed herself to be pulled to his chest quickly. Their mouths wandered, explored together, their thirst and hunger unquenchable. In a sudden moment, Christine realized that this was the beginnings of lovemaking, and it was dangerously far from disgusting. In fact, quite the opposite, it was the most pleasant thing she had ever known.

His mouth grew exceedingly anxious, his tongue reaching for hers gently. His hands were tangled in her hair, and she was pulling him to her now. Her hands went about his shoulders, as one of his loosed the grip on her hair and traveled slowly downward, to the curve of her back. She pressed herself to him, hoping to put out the flames which threatened to consume her. She was a cross between a child and a woman; unsure whether or not to proceed, but knowing she wanted to.

Erik was lost. In her hair, her lips, her scent… He breathed deeply at the base of her neck as he paused before planting a desperate kiss to the place where her neck and collarbone met. She arched her back in response. What was he doing? This was so very wrong……but she did not refuse him, nor pull away. The mask did not seem to concern her at all. He did not disgust her. Everything was moving quickly, blindingly so. His kisses at the base of her neck grew more fervent. His lips trailed up to where her ear and neck met and began focusing his attentions there. Christine threw her head back for a moment, but only to move it forward and begin kissing his cheek, his lips, his throat…

In that heated moment, she spoke between gasps, "Erik….I…..don't even…..know…..what …….."

He spoke into her hair possessively , clutching her tighter, "Christine…._my_ Christine…."

He held her like that for a moment, refusing to let her go as she struggled to meet his lips once more. He held her in place until he felt the heat in his lower belly begin to cool. She struggled against him mildly, and still he held her, knowing that if he were to continue this, it would not end abruptly. It would end with him on top of her, inside her, spilling his seed into her, claiming her as his own. He would lay, satiated between her legs, overcome with a feeling of contentment.

He gently pulled her from him. "Christine….I apologize."

"Erik, there is no apology needed." She bit her lip. "My…my actions were indeed my own."

"No, Christine. You….," he tried to think of a way to word this correctly. "You are still quite young. You do not understand what can happen….I….I do not wish to take advantage of you in that respect."

Although he had calmed down, she still saw the remnants of fires flashing in the depths of his green eyes.

"I….I want to thank you, Erik. For your discretion. It is true that at certain times, I do not think of the consequences of my actions, only what I want in the moment."

He had to ask her. He had to know. "And, was one of the things you wanted in that moment…..me?"


	13. Chapter thirteen

She paused before responding timidly, "Yes, yes it was."

Erik knew he could do one of two things. Take advantage of her innocence and become the monster everyone thought him to be, or, do what his body begged him not to, but what he believed was right. She was far too naïve, and although he desired her greatly, he was also protective of her. He would not take her quickly, heatedly, unconcerned for her pleasure or reputation. He would wish her to be his wife, and at that point initiate her and himself to the pleasures their two bodies could combine to make.

"Come, we must return. Those two fools who run my theatre will be missing you."

It had come out of nowhere, and surprised Christine. In a way, she was glad for his decency. She felt almost as if she was not in her own body. She had been dangerously close to surrendering her body to this man, and she wondered at her cordial mindset. Doing something like this with a man should obviously be the last thing on her mind. Yet, whenever she was around him, she found herself curious and wanting. She wished him to make love to her; to make love to her and teach her gently, the joy that intimacy could bring. She did not know why she felt this way, but attributed it to getting older and her physical maturation.

The surprised look on her face told him she had expected a very different response on his part. What could he do? Do what his body told him to and have her hate him? Somehow, he felt that although he wanted her very much, he did not deserve her. She needed someone who could take care of her in a lifestyle grander than he could provide. Certainly, Erik was not in need of money. But, to force her to live underground for eternity? No, he could not bring himself to do it.

Erik was very conflicted when it came to dealing with Christine. On the one hand, he knew that she might one day be able to love him. On the other, he did not know if he would wish that for her. As much as he hated to admit it, if he were Christine, he might entertain the affections of the vicomte. A young, dashing man, well off, with charm and grace would be a wonderful complement to Christine. But, would he push her to succeed? Probably not. Would he let her continue to perform if she became his wife? Erik sighed as he realized that if the vicomte did court her and eventually they married, that he would most likely not have her perform. Everything she, no they, had worked for would be lost.

They did not speak as he led her across the lake, and upwards through the hallways towards her dressing room. As he touched the mechanism which slid the mirror open, she turned to him and spoke, clearing her throat.

"I hope that….I haven't…..ruined everything. I do wish to continue our music lessons."

He turned to her, surprised. How on earth could she believe she had ruined things?

"Of course, Mademoiselle Daae. I shall always give you music lessons, if you so desire. There is nothing I can deny you." He turned from her and continued, almost to himself, "surely you know that by now."

She crossed over the threshold to her dressing room and looked back at him, her face dreamy. He did not know whether to laugh or cry. She was like a giddy schoolgirl, and he honestly did not know what to make of it.

"Then, I will see you tomorrow," she said, a faint glimmer of hope in her voice.

Erik nodded, a serious look on his face, and she smiled at him for a moment, then turned her head away. He reached for the mechanism and closed the door.

He felt so….odd. It was then that he realized that since he was her first kiss, he was…well a great many 'firsts' to her. He wondered how much of her reaction to him was genuinely for him, and how much was simply a sensual awakening. He did not wish to seduce her for the sole point of seduction, but to seduce her out of a mutual love.

He would not dwell on it any more today; it was pointless. As his mind pondered other things, he found himself rather disquieted. One thing was for certain; he did not appreciate the vicomte's affections and possible intentions towards Christine. He would protect her at any cost. She would not be lost to him.


	14. Chapter fourteen

Raoul de Chagny had been frantic with worry. After a taxing couple of hours spent with the managers, Carlotta, and Giry, several things were determined. Firstly, that the Opera Ghost had made away with Christine. Secondly, that Christine was to replace La Carlotta in Il Muto, later that night. So, she would have to be returned by then. But, what could that monster be doing to her?

Raoul felt the muscles in his square jaw clench firmly. He did not even wish to think of the fate which had befallen Christine. No doubt this monster would take what any man would from a woman such as Christine. He would take her innocence, he would use her naïve mind, and he would twist it to suit his own purpose. Raoul felt helpless, powerless over her suffering. Unless…there was always the chance he had not harmed her? Surely, if he wanted Christine to play a leading role at the Opera Populaire, he would be concerned for her future. He would wish her success. Perhaps he would not have touched her. As there was nothing he could do, he opted to sit in the Opera café and order a croissant and coffee while he waited anxiously for any news of her return. She would have to show sooner or later, and this time, he would not fail her.

Christine knew she should be getting some rest, but rest seemed the thing furthest from her mind. She was lost in a world blurred by fantasy. She felt lucky, blessed even to have such excitement in her life. He had surely burned a path into her existence, with his fiery eyes and strong stature. Her angel, who had looked after her as a child, was a man, and a man who had feelings for her. Strong feelings. Christine blushed as she knew she reciprocated those strong feelings he had for her. She could not think when he was near, and yet she knew not why. It should be just as ordinary as any other man standing near her. But with Erik, it was almost like a presence hung in the air, an electric current with threatened to take her sanity. Her mind told her not to act this way, but her body was already heated with the knowledge they would soon again meet to have a lesson. He brought out thoughts and feelings she didn't even know she had. She had to chide herself time and again for thinking of such disgusting, vulgar thoughts, but somehow in her mind, all vulgarity was replaced by….pleasure…

How strange it was that the body should rule the mind in that respect, she thought. 'He must think me a wanton,' she thought to herself, almost smirking. 'He must think me highly improper and unladylike,' she thought again, yet she could not bring herself to believe this. On the contrary, Erik seemed not to mind her boldness one bit.

Christine was, in truth, acting no more forward than Jammes, or any other chorus girl; she was merely a curious girl on the brink of womanhood. A girl questing for answers which could not be spoken alone; they had to be demonstrated. The knowledge that she could change, and him be the cause of it was somehow very exciting to her. She could give herself to him fully, regretting nothing, gaining everything. After all, he had been her tutor, her mentor and guide for so long, why not a lover, companion….husband even?

Shocked by her thoughts, she moved to her dressing table and sat. Why should she be thinking of husbands? True, the time was coming where she should think of marriage, but she was still young. And, of course, she thought ruefully, his thoughts would not be on marriage; merely the physical acts married couples are permitted to do, which still confused and worried her a bit. Or would he think of marriage?

And then there was Raoul. She was confused by him. She had missed her childhood friend, and to see him now, fully grown, was surely a happy reunion. Perhaps she should turn her thoughts Raoul as a possibility for a suitor, even though she truthfully thought of Raoul in more of a friendly way.

She picked up her ivory handled brush and began to smooth the soft curls of their tangles. She remembered the feeling of his lips on her own; the pressure, the unrelenting heat, and she had to stop and control her thoughts.

Madame Giry had found her not long after that, and Christine begged her for privacy and rest. Giry agreed warily, and set about to tell Raoul, the managers, and Carlotta, that Christine was back, but was not accepting any visitors.

She reclined on her chaise as she felt her eyelids droop. With one final glance that the fine red rose, an ebony ribbon about its stem, she drifted off into oblivion.

Christine was awakened several hours later when she heard the mirror slide open. Her mind had not fully regained consciousness and yet she could feel him, sense him coming to stand beside her.

Erik watched his beautiful angel, sensuously reclining on her chaise, and gently reached his hand out to touch her shoulder. "Christine," he spoke softly, "it is I, Erik. I've come for our lesson."

She smiled up at him dreamily, stretching her arms above her head daintily. "Erik…I knew you'd come."

Watching her move heated his body. His face surely betrayed his thoughts, for it became a mass of tight, questioning planes. Christine seemed to notice this as her eyes grew wider, and her arms drifted to her sides. And yet, a single thought entered her head. 'He is here in my dressing room. We are alone….I am wearing….my dressing gown!'

Her pulse sped up as she looked at him, watching her. He clenched his jaw muscles once, then looked away. "Shall I return after you've had time to…dress," he asked, not looking at her.

Christine considered her answer, sat up, then responded. "No…I…well as long as you don't mind that I am wearing the same garments as yesterday, no."

He turned to her so suddenly that her breath left her lungs in a silent _whoosh_. "You know that's not what I was referring to, Miss Daae."

She did not speak; although she tried, she couldn't. It bothered him, her state of undress. Her breathing became deeper, causing her chest to rise and fall rapidly. Although Erik tried not to, his eyes were immediately drawn to the quivering flesh at the top of her corset.

Erik tried to look away, but he was mesmerized by her chest. By the almost invisible blue veins which lay under the surface of her skin, by the glorious slope of breast, by the edge of the corset, which left nearly nothing to the imagination. Why must women cage their bodies so in these contraptions?

She shifted her legs on the chaise; anything to fill the silence. He forced himself to look at her face although his mind drifted to her breasts. Would they look like fuller versions of his chest, or something different altogether? In the books he'd read, the women had full, round breasts like oranges, with large, dark nipples in the center. Surely Christine, slight as she was, would not have such ample cleavage. That did not bother him, but the fact he was so desperate to see…not even to touch…but to see her, bare before him, worried him greatly. He was only a man, after all. She seemed to be like a little Delilah, taunting him, finding his weakness and using it against him. There was a limit to how much he could stand, and then, he would lose control.

She spoke, interrupting his thoughts. "Erik, I…I wish to speak with you."

He turned towards her and spoke slowly. "Of course."

She paused a moment, trying to figure out the best wording. "Erik, you know that I do not….entertain conversation with men other than yourself."

He nodded, wondering where this was going.

"Then, I…I find that some times I have no one to speak to about certain things."

He paused, confused. "What of Giry, or her little daughter?"

"Meg," she asked, as he nodded.

"Meg doesn't….I-," she cleared her throat, "I would not like to worry nor disgust them."

Disgust them? What on earth was she talking about. His lips parted, for the heat had become unbearable, as he spoke to her, his voice suddenly deep. "Go on."

"It's just that….I am sixteen, and…," she seemed to change the course of her sentence, and she asked him, "…how old are you, Erik?"

His eyes rolled up slightly, and his face took on a pensive appearance as he tried to determine the answer to her question. "I cannot be positive, but…I suppose I would put my age somewhere between thirty three and thirty nine."

She spoke again, her face flushing. "It's just that…"

He interrupted her. "Speak, Miss Daae. Speak your mind."

"I…," her voice trailed off completely as she struggled to gain her courage before blurting out, "I find that I have strange feelings when you are near."

Oh God. There it was. What he had only dreamed of hearing her say. She felt it as well. The current between them, stronger than a chain of iron. She was remarkably decisive and outspoken for one so young.

She continued. "And I am upset when you are away. And…I find your instruction and guidance invaluable. I do hope that you shall always…," her face turned a furious crimson as she looked at the floor,"…_instruct_ me as you see fit."

She had not meant to pause before speaking the work instruct. With the pause added, she realized she was alluding to something else altogether. Something she should not be speaking of in his presence…

She had put emphasis on the word _instruct_ for a reason. He was certain of it. He was slightly taken aback by her audacity, but overall grateful for her truthfulness in the disclosure of her feelings. He was alarmingly unsure of how to proceed. He let the joy of her words sink in. Could his angel actually wish him to…instruct her in other ways as well?

Unsure of everything except the pounding of his heart, he strode to her side at the chaise, kneeling down next to her. He gently reached out a hand, pushing her shoulder down to the chaise. Her body obeyed, reclining again. He spoke softly to her, as he brought his gloved hand to rest at her chin. "It was wrong of me to wake you so early before a performance. You have not had enough rest, Christine. That is why you think these things of me. You are confused…"

"No, Erik," she responded, bringing her face inches from his, looking directly into his eyes. "I am not confused. I know what it is I am feeling. I do not feel this way around Raoul, or any other man, for that matter."

She was remarkably concise, and she knew exactly what she was saying. Christine may be young, but she had more maturity than all the ballet rats combined.

"You are young," he said huskily. "You are inexperienced."

"So are you." Again, she inched her face to his. "You told me this," she said, her voice no more than a whisper. She would die for want of his proximity.

"You are not thinking of consequences." His very soul _burned_.

"Consequences of what," she asked, then, as she looked into his fiery eyes and realized, blushed.

She spoke softly, "You mean-?"

He nodded, as his lips parted. He began to stroke the skin at the side of her face.


	15. Chapter fifteen

It was all he could do to stop touching the soft skin of her cheek. He had to tear himself away, sitting back on his haunches.

"Christine there will be time for us later. Right now, you have to prepare for Il Muto. You are taking over for Carlotta yet again, and I have worked to put you in her place. It was not an easy task. Please…you once told me that singing meant more to you than anything."

"It does."

"Then, for both our sakes, please begin preparation."

Her hand on his arm stilled him. "Then, tomorrow?"

He looked into her eyes, deep and dark. "Yes."

He left then, standing gracefully and walking towards her mirror, his cape swaying slightly in the aftermath. With one last look back at her, he shut the mirror.

'What is wrong with me,' she thought. 'What am I doing? To him, to…myself?'

Christine set her mind to the task of dressing for the performance. Emmanuelle, her dresser, knocked on the door gently.

"Who is it, please," Christine asked.

"Emmanuelle, mademoiselle."

"Come in."

Emmanuelle entered, her head modestly held down as always. She had been Carlotta's dressing girl, and Christine's for Hannibal. Christine had not bothered to ask anything personal about the girl; it wasn't that she was rude, just that her mind had always been preoccupied with the coming performance and she had never bothered to converse with her.

Emmanuelle was a pretty girl, probably several years older than Christine. She had blue eyes, gorgeous wheat colored locks which she wore pinned away from her face, and a shapely woman's body. Christine's gaze drifted down and she noticed something she hadn't before; a small gold band on the girl's fourth finger of her left hand.

"Emmanuelle, are you married," she asked.

The girl lifted her head, as if in surprise that someone was speaking to her.

"Yes, I am. I was married when I turned sixteen."

Christine turned away, thinking.

"Do you have any children?"

"Why, yes. I have two strong boys. They are five and seven."

Christine pondered this again, then asked, "how old are you?"

Emmanuelle gave her a sneaky smile and said, "twenty two."

Christine did the math in her head. She must have conceived the child…before the marriage? She cleared her throat then said, "So that means that…."

Emmanuelle interrupted her gently, "Yes, we did marry for that reason." She smiled at Christine. "Jean wouldn't have had it any other way."

Christine smiled back at the girl, as she held out her undercorset. "Jean is your husband?"

The girl nodded as she guided Christine's arms through the corset holes and began to pull the laces.

"I don't know how you are able to sing at all in this."

Christine let out a small laugh. "It certainly does not make it any easier."

Emmanuelle was now behind Christine, working at the laces. Christine knitted her brows together, then spoke. "Where did you meet your husband?"

"Well, I was working as a cleaning maid for the Rivieres…a French family, and Jean was in charge of their stables. He had been working for them for about seven months when I started. He was so….so strong, and he made me feel so….as if he was a drug to me that I needed. He was impulsive and handsome and a very good kisser, and I suppose that's why I fell in love with him. Why do you ask?"

Christine wondered this herself. "Oh, no reason." Realizing, this was not true, she continued. "Well, actually, there is a man, who is a friend of mine, who I know wishes to court me, and then there is another man. He is so very different from the first, yet when I'm around him, I want to give him…more…."

Emmanuelle let out a small laugh and spoke. "You must be careful not to give him 'more', cherie. You do not wish to turn out like me….two boys, and enceinte before married!" She continued. "Some men are very…persuasive, and you must take care."

Emmanuelle finished the laces, then walked to retrieve the gown. Christine turned to her and said, "then, if you begin to feel…persuaded….you should not do what it is you think you want?"

The girl eyed Christine strangely. "No, cherie. You should do what your heart tells you. But you should be sure to know of the consequences."

Christine spoke under her breath. "That's what he said."

Emmanuelle held out the dress. "Would you like to tell me about this man?"

Christine's eyes took on a faraway look, as she spoke of him. "He is my music tutor. He has worked so hard to get me this far, and when I'm around him, I feel….warm…I," she blushed," I don't know what I feel, but it is wonderful. And when he kissed me…"

"He has kissed you!"

Christine nodded, then added, "No! But it wasn't anything inappropriate. I…wanted him to…."

Emmanuelle clicked her tongue. "Then, I suppose you feel he is the right one for you?"

"I don't know. He had ordered his life so that I shall succeed. And, I do have a strong attraction for him. I…I really don't know yet."

Christine stepped into the dress, as Emmanuelle moved to do up the back of the gown.

"Emmanuelle, can I ask you something awfully personal? I mean, it's just that I….I never had a mother, and I am too ashamed to ask my friends, and…"

"Mademoiselle, surely what you have to ask me cannot be that bad," she laughed again.

"I want to know about….well when a man and a together….in a union…."

Christine was cut off by Emmanuelle's gentle laugh. How strange this young girl was, she thought, to be asking her such things. How inquisitive.

"You wish to know of love?"

Christine looked at the floor, her face hot. "Yes."

The girl looked off into space and spoke. "Love is a funny thing. A funny, beautiful thing."

They continued their discussion for the next half hour. Emmanuelle was remarkably candid with Christine, answering her questions carefully and thoughtfully. She wished the girl to be informed, whatever decision she should make in regards to love making, and she cautioned her that she could end up with child. She also spoke to her of ways to prevent this. Christine could not look at the girl for the majority of their conversation; she was a combination of mortified and horrified. She would _bleed_? Not like a monthly flow, but _bleed_? She would be torn inside? How horrifying!

Christine could barely concentrate on singing, and was startled when she heard knocking on the door.

"What eez she doing ere," Christine recognized the familiar screech as Carlotta.

"Miss Daae…there has been a little mistake….you are actually…well…playing the pageboy," Mssr. Andre said.

"But I thought-," she started, but was cut off.

"No one but me will be singing tonight!" Carlotta spoke again.

"I'm so sorry for the inconvenience Miss Daae, but you must get into the other costume, if you please, " said Mssr. Firmin.

Christine was angry. She had worked, prepared, learned the whole score for what? Nothing!

"Geeve me my dress. Get out of it!" Carlotta was now rushing about the dressing room.

Christine decided to stand up for herself. "Fine! I noticed it was a bit too large anyway!" She turned behind her. "Emmanuelle, will you please help me to get out of this."

Emmanuelle nodded, feeling sorry for the girl, but going to the back of the dress nonetheless.

Mssr.s Andre and Firmin muttered something about leaving her to dress, and left. Carlotta moved to the door.

"I will have theeeees dress in five minutes!" she slammed the door behind her.

Emmanuelle struggled with the laces and spoke to Christine, "I'm sorry, mademoiselle."

Christine spoke back to her. "Not as sorry as they will be for angering Erik." She said it with a sure tone, but she was secretly afraid. She had no idea how he would react. She wondered.


	16. Chapter sixteen

The performance of Il Muto was a disaster by anyone's standards. Carlotta had croaked, Buquet had been murdered, and the Opera Ghost had made an appearance to all the patrons of the Opera.

Mssrs. Andre and Firmin believed that they were ruined, and Carlotta left shortly after that night to sing in Milan, away from "these things" which kept "happening".

Christine would never forget seeing Joseph Buquet's body lying lifeless on the stage. She had run out of her dressing room half dressed when she heard the screams. She could never erase that face, the eyes bulging horribly as the skin turned an even deeper shade of purple.

Christine may have been quite taken with her tutor, however, her first instinct was for self preservation. She could not believe that Erik had murdered. Or more, that he might kill again. She did not know what she thought as she ran to get away from the stage. Raoul had been there, and he had held her, and followed her as she ran to the roof. As she shut the door behind them, not even the freezing cold of the evening bothered her. She was terrified beyond belief.

Christine viewed death very seriously. After losing her father, she had found strength in religion. She believed it was wrong to kill. That death was very final. She would not accept his reasoning for murder; she knew it was wrong and inexcusable. She would not be the reason for someone's death.

Raoul wrapped her in his arms and whispered into her ear that it would be alright, that she would be safe, and he would see to it to keep her so. She lost herself in the breadth of his shoulders, his height, his security.

Christine felt as if she'd been on a roller coaster lately. Too many emotions, too much confusion. It was so nice to be wrapped in an embrace full of warmth and innocence. Raoul asked no questions, he did not make her feel anything except comfort. She buried her face in his chest as she felt the tears fall.

"Raoul—I've been there. I've seen him, where he lives."

Raoul just looked at her, carefully listening, his hand holding hers as she pulled her face from his chest.

"I think sometimes that he cannot mean me well, but then….his voice fills my spirit with a strange, sweet sound. And his music makes my soul…soar…."

"Christine…I am not meaning to judge you, but…can you honestly feel pity, or kindness for a man who has…who has kidnapped you, done God knows what to you, and killed a man?"

She turned to him, the tear tracks evident on her porcelain skin. "Raoul, he did not harm me. In any way. Please don't think that he….," her voice caught. "He did not…force me to do anything…inappropriate."

Raoul took a step back and looked at her. She was trembling from the cold, and bore the most pitiful expression. She seemed to be in another world. "He'll always be there, Raoul….singing songs in my head…"

Raoul put his arms on either side of her and held her gently. "Christine, forget all of this. Let me protect you, I hate to see you like this…"

She turned to him, and sighed. Raoul was all that was kind and good. Yet she did not feel for him as she felt for Erik. Erik excited her, intrigued her; he was a mystery. Raoul, on the other hand, was an open book.

Raoul pulled her into him again. "Christine….if you would….let me, I would take care of you. Keep you safe."

Christine pulled back and looked into his face. She placed her small hand to his cheek. "Raoul, I appreciate having you in my life. But, I think I am feeling more of a friend's love for you than anything. I am sorry."

Raoul's tone was suddenly harsher. "A friend's love? Christine, you haven't given me a chance. You don't know me."

She took a step back. "Raoul, I know that I do not feel for you as one should feel for their love."

Raoul waited, not speaking. Then, he suddenly pulled her to him, kissing her deeply. She struggled for a moment, then lost herself in his kiss. It was not like Erik's; it was not unpleasant, but it lacked the heat, the desire that was in Erik's kiss. She pulled back abruptly. "Christine…I don't think you understand….I am in love with you. I have everything a girl of your status could want. Money, land…."

Christine was angry now, her eyes flashing. "A girl of my…status? Is that how you think of me, Raoul? Poor fatherless Christine?"

He went to go after her, but she moved away. "Christine don't be ridiculous. You know that's not what I meant!"

She did not listen, but headed for the door leading downstairs. She was walking quickly now, but was stopped when Raoul abruptly grabbed her arm. "Wait, Christine!"

Her eyes immediately went to her arm, then to his eyes. Holding his gaze, she deliberately shook her arm, but he would not let it go. "Christine…you are a chorus dancer….a singer..," she looked away, and he tried to placate her, "…not that that's a bad thing, but….I can offer you so much more…."

She spoke calmly and slowly. "Raoul, let go of my arm."

He looked at her for another moment, then let it drop. "I'm sorry, Christine. I didn't mean to hold you; I wanted to explain…"

"I am not interested in your explanations. Your reasoning is clear. I am but a poor orphan who doesn't know any better, and has nothing going for them in their own life."

He made a move to protest, but she silenced him. "As it happens, there is a man whom I love, who has put me above all. Who has ordered things that I might succeed, and is more interested in helping me become a person on my own, rather than keeping me caged as a titled housewife."

She turned around to reach the door handle, but he grabbed her and spun her to him. His pride was wounded, and his sense of self hurt by her stinging barbs. He spoke coldly and close to her ear. "And who is this….man?"

He was hurting her arm, and she was afraid. More than she had been of Erik, more than anything. She said calmly, "Raoul, let me go."

It was then that she heard it. "Unhand her, sir, or you will have _me_ to deal with." His voice was no more than a whisper, but perhaps the most menacing sound she had ever heard.

He was taller than Raoul, and he had seemed to materialize there, on the roof. Raoul was startled. He shouted back, "this is none of your concern. I was speaking to mademoiselle."

Erik gritted his teeth and responded. "I can see that by the grip you have on her arm." He continued. "I would assume one of your breeding, vicomte, would realize that there is a proper and improper way to speak to a woman. Or at least one would hope."

"How dare you!", Raoul spat.

Christine did not see what happened next, only the end result. Erik had Raoul by the jacket lapel, and spoke close to him. "Now, you shall leave, de Chagny. You shall leave here, and you shall never bother Miss Daae without her express consent again."

He pushed Raoul back, releasing his grasp. "And if I find that you have ever harmed her in any way….I will make you wish you were Joseph Buquet, dead and at peace."

Raoul looked at him, hatred and embarrassment burning in his eyes. He glanced to Christine, then to Erik. "Then, _this_ is what I am being snubbed for," he said, referring to Erik.

Erik took a menacing step towards him, and Raoul reached for the door handle immediately, opening it and stepping inside. "I will see you later, Christine."

"That remains to be seen," Erik said coldly.

Raoul pulled the door shut, and there was a moment before Christine turned towards him.

Erik spoke to her, anger latent in his voice. "Did he hurt you?"

Christine shook her head no. She looked at him with steely eyes. "Erik, I appreciate your assistance, but…please leave me alone."

"Christine-"

She cut him off. "Erik…you _murdered_ a man! A horrible, disgusting man, but a man nonetheless. 'Thou shalt not kill'…do you know anything of it?"

"I am not bound by the laws of men, nor their God."

Her mouth set in a determined line. "Well, _I_ believe in God, and laws, and the right of…._life_! That man breathes no more, and for what reason? Because you were angry!"

Erik turned to her, his eyes slits. "No, Christine that is not why I did it."

"Then why!"

He looked away, unsure of what to say. He began slowly. "You misunderstand me, Christine. I am not a monster. I did not want to do it. Yes, I was angry that the managers decided to put Carlotta in the lead, but it was more than Buquet being in the right place at the wrong time. You see…I witnessed something several weeks ago that I'd like to forget…"

Christine looked up at him, her brows drawing together, as he continued. "I saw him….and Sophie….well….Sophie was struggling….."

He lowered his head again. "He….forced his affections on Sophie."

Christine's eyes bored into his own. It was true, several weeks ago Sophie had run into the dormitories crying, but had refused to say the cause of her sorrow.

"I saw it and I did nothing. I acted like a coward! I was afraid that either of them would run and speak of the Opera Ghost. That they would hunt me down, and find me, and that….I might never be able to give you another voice lesson. I'm sorry."

"No, Erik-,", she started, but he continued.

"Almost a week later, I noticed him spying on you in your dressing room. He was trying to get a glimpse of you dressing…I…should've said something then, but I didn't want to cause you any problems."

Her hand went to her chest, protectively as she let out a small gasp. She had had the strangest sensation someone was watching her, but had always thought perhaps it was her Angel. A bitter taste came into her mouth.

His eyes captured hers again, and he spoke. "I didn't want you to come to any harm at his hand."

As the reality of the situation dawned on her, she felt her face, which had been set in hard lines, soften. "You must understand that I cannot thank you for that, but I do appreciate your concern for my well being. Erik….Erik, but now I'm afraid you will be a hunted man. They will not let you escape."

"Perhaps so, Christine." He sighed, and turned his back to her.

"Perhaps so? Erik, how can you….what am I to do if something happens to you," Christine seemed to cry out, her voice breaking.

"You would be fine without me, Christine."

She walked directly in front of him, grabbing his with her small arms. "No, I wouldn't Erik! How would I…"

He did not raise his voice as he spoke to her. "How would you what, Christine?"

"How would I be able to do everything I do? There would be no one to teach nor guide me!"

"You would survive, Christine. It is instinct." She walked away from him. He paused and looked at her. Christine's eyes were glistening with tears. Could it be he was the cause of those precious droplets? He softened his tone, speaking quietly to her. "I did not know that you would feel…that your reaction would be…one of sorrow."

A single, glistening tear rolled out of the corner of her eye, leaving a silvery trail down her cheek in its wake. He cleared his throat. "You told me once that you have strange feelings when I am near, which I attributed to….your maturation and curiosity, but are you honestly telling me you have feelings for me….beyond that?"

Christine had to consider this herself. Her feelings had been akin to the feelings a mother has when they find their child who has wandered unexpectedly. They are angry that the child wandered off, but they also hug them desperately, overjoyed the child is safe. Christine was angry that Erik had killed Joseph Buquet, but she was glad to see him safe, glad that he protected her and worried what she would have done had something happened to him.

She did not know what to think. Could it be she was feeling more than just the physical? Was she emotionally at his feet as well?

Silence passed between them as she approached him, slowly, confusion on her face. Erik drew his brows together, unsure of what she would say or do. She stopped when she was standing directly in front of him, dwarfed by his stature.

"Yes, Erik. Perhaps I do feel for you….something more."

His eyes looked down at hers; frightened, vulnerable, and sad. He watched a second tear drip, following its predecessor down her cheek, and did not resist the urge to wipe the moist trail away.

"Christine," he spoke, but she cut him off as she placed a finger to his lips. "Shhhh-," she spoke. She gently reached up to the side of his neck and pulled him to her, meeting his warm lips in a tender kiss.


	17. Chapter seventeen

Her hands were cold, but his body was warm. He flinched slightly as she placed her hands, like small blocks of ice upon his bare back. Somehow in the midst of their kissing, he had lost his shirt, and now, rested comfortably between her legs. She was confusedly arching against him, grinding into him, trying to satisfy her need; a need which she did not altogether understand. He was whispering words of love, of comfort into her ear, much like he had done in her dream.

And to think, it had all started with a kiss. She didn't know why she kissed him, only that she needed to. He had taken her by the hand, led her from the roof; back through the forgotten stairways and backdoors of the theater to his lair. His eyes had betrayed his lust more surely than their first descent. He had pulled her into his arms, then pledged her his eternal love. She did the same, caught up in the moments of her first romance. What had started as a kiss had turned into something, hot, fiery, full of secret desires. He had gently backed her to the bed, and as he went to lay her down, she grabbed his shirt collar, pulling him with her. It was hard to say what happened next. His coat was off, then his cravat and vest. Somehow he had kicked his shoes off, then removed hers lovingly as she fought back heated gasps, begging him to return to her lips. He untied her cape she had thrown over the half of a costume she'd been in, and threw it off. He had trembled as her hands touched his face and pulled his mouth to hers.

She was not sure how long they had been down there, like this. There seemed to be no distinction of time whatsoever, as every moment seemed to blend effortlessly into the next.

His hands skirted her clothed torso, running over her corset, down to her feet, then back up, pulling her skirt with them. He exposed her legs to his hungry gaze as he began to plant heated kisses to the base of her neck, igniting a fire between her thighs. She moaned and pulled him to her, bringing his head close to her breast. He kissed along the outside of her corset, her breath quickening with each touch of his lips. She shuddered against him as her pulse raced. No, this was happening too fast.

His hands went to the hook and eye closures at the front of her corset, and after several moments of inexperienced fumbling, tore it down the front. The small metal closures groaned and broke open under his hands. Christine's hands immediately went to pull the edges of the corset in, in order to cover her bare breasts. Christine should have been horrified, but all she wanted to do, _needed_ to do was press herself to his naked chest. She was confused, she was reeling, she was suffering from a flame deep inside that needed to be quenched. Her torn corset still concealed her breasts for it had not drifted open yet, and satisfied that it would not open further, she let go of the edges and pulled him to her gently, embarrassed by her near nakedness. Their skin met partially, and this time, it was he who moaned. She shivered in response. He could feel her; her half-naked chest pressed to his own, her chest rising and falling rapidly, remains of the corset all that separated them on top, and he had to desist kissing her for several moments in order to calm himself. He nuzzled her neck gently, as she let out a small whimper. Her hands went to her skirts, now bunched about her waist, but still concealing, and she shuddered again. It did not seem to him like a shudder of pleasure.

He looked into her face, and saw her eyes wide. She was willing, but she seemed to be afraid, growing more alarmed by the minute.

She went to raise her hands, and bring the skirt with them, baring her to his gaze, but she felt his hands on her wrists immediately. He did not hurt her, but his grip was firm, unyielding. His mind and body begged for release, but he knew even though she would surrender herself to him, she was afraid. Afraid of the pain, perhaps, and afraid of not having her innocence, and, possibly afraid of conceiving, being as she was not wed. Or, perhaps, she was afraid of him.

Erik exhaled slowly. He would not force his pleasure on her. He would wait. He shut his eyes, willing away her face, and leaned in to her, resting his forehead on her shoulder. He felt her shudder again, almost as if she had been out in the cold air for a long time, and he drew back and spoke to her. "My angel…..are you cold?"

She shook her head no, her mouth slightly agape.

"Then…what? Are you afraid…of me," he asked, sadly.

She shook her head no again, and spoke to him softly. "I am not afraid of you, Erik….I am afraid of…._it_…..it is all happening so quickly, and I am afraid of so many complications of our…_joining_…," she blushed. "I also don't want you to see me without my…clothing…"

Bless her heart. Christine was so very womanly in some ways, yet still like a child in others.

He looked down at her, and fought back a wave of guilt. She had been with him, here, his angel, the person he wanted more than anyone, declaring her love, and he was rushing her….forcing her to accept him physically. He sat up, moving from between her legs so she could sit up as well.

"Christine….we do not need to do this. You do not need to prove your love this way. I will wait. I…have not done this before… I…I did not mean for it to get this far," he spoke simply, quietly. "I am sorry if I offended you."

She pulled her corset around her, and looked at the floor. "No! You could never offend me, Erik…it's simply…I…I do not feel….ready….to give myself to you…in this way….yet…"

He cleared his throat, as his mind replayed what they had been doing these last few moments. "Yet," he echoed huskily.

She smiled back at him weakly, trying to diffuse the heavy scent of lust which hung all around them. He looked at her, then down to the valley between her breasts. He gently reached towards her, taking the corset edges, and holding them in place himself. Her breath stopped for a moment; she thought surely he meant to touch her there. He moved his head until their foreheads touched and he placed a small kiss to the tip of her nose. He whispered to her. "My love….I would wait until the end of time for you. I hope that we could one day….marry."

Her eyes seemed to light at talk of marriage. His eyes captured hers, then took on a deeper look altogether as he spoke to her, his voice the very definition of seduction.

"When you want me, then I will come to you…but not before."

She looked at him, unsure whether to cry or throw her arms around his neck. "Thank you. You are not angry, then?"

He sighed back at her, shaking his head, and standing. "Christine, I could never be angry with you. You deserve more than your poor Erik could ever hope to give you."

He walked away from her, and she shifted her weight on the bed, trying to determine where he had gone. He returned less than a minute later with a loose white poet blouse. He held it up to her, as if for her approval. She let out an awkward giggle, trying to lighten the tension and mood of the moment, and he approached the bed, handing the blouse to her. She took it, and he walked out of the area the bed was in, so she could preserve her modesty. It was hard to tear himself away from her when all he wanted to do was find acceptance in her heated limbs. He had to remember his place. Their time was not now, anyway.

He was thinking, wondering if everything would now be ruined for them, or if it still would be the same. She seemed to have such fire within her; but he wondered if he could ever dream of having Christine Daae as his lover….no….his wife…

While his back was turned, she took the opportunity to ask him an important question.

"Erik, do you think now they will come looking for you?"

He did not turn to her but she saw his shoulders tighten and he spoke. "Heaven help them if they do…but…I do have a plan…."


	18. Chapter eighteen

"You will go to de Chagny," he said, and although she went to interrupt him, he held up his hand, silencing her. He continued, "you will go to de Chagny, and you will tell him everything you and I have discussed."

He looked at Christine, her eyes wide with a mixture of fear and excitement.

"Do you understand everything I have said?"

She nodded, fighting back the waves of nausea. While Erik did have a very good idea, there were any number of things which could go wrong endangering him, or her, or both. He walked towards her with that masculine gait that she found both appealing and intimidating. "It is best, Christine, that you and I do not meet for lessons or otherwise, as it will jeopardize our plan, if we are seen together."

His hand rose to stroke her cheek; soft like baby skin. He gently traced the line of her jaw with his index finger as he spoke to her softly. "If anything were to happen to you, I would lose my mind. That is why it must be this way for the time being. I am so sorry to have to put you through this ordeal."

She spoke this time. "No, Erik. I….I would willingly brave far worse than this to be with you. I am sure of it."

He cupped her chin, looking into her eyes deeply. "Then, I'm afraid it is adieu for a short while, Miss Daae."

He leaned in tenderly and planted a soft kiss to her pliant lips. Her mouth moved under his, but he kept the pressure of his lips firm on hers. The last thing he wanted to do was begin a long kiss; it would be hard to resist her then. He pulled back and she made a small sound in the back of her throat before hugging her head to his broad chest.

"You must go," he said simply, his voice betraying that he wanted otherwise. She looked at him, and back to the passage which led to her dressing room, and with a slight squeeze of his hand on hers, she was gone.

Two things had occurred to Erik this day; the first, that he was loved by someone, and would shortly experience all the things he had come to want the most, and the second, that Christine Daae would always be in his life. It was a strange thing, love. Perhaps he knew it the moment he laid eyes on her, even as a little girl. He loved her in some way; as a friend loves their neighbor. His feelings had only deepened with time. It was foolish of course, he would surely have loved whatever girl he set his sights on….But Christine? She had been so gloriously different. And he had been so sure she was the person for him. He sat down in his chair and sighed. He would have to work very hard to finish the score of Don Juan Triumphant in order to present it, along with his casting preferences, to those bloody ignorant managers at the masked ball. He doubted it would be that difficult, considering he had no one to speak to or occupy his time with, for she was gone.

Christine sat at her dressing room table, brushing out her thick, dark curls. As she brushed her hair, it reminded her of his hands tangling in the thick masses. She longed for him; for his touch, his presence. A knock at the door roused her from her reverie.

"Yes," she asked, "come in!"

Madame Giry opened the door slowly and walked inside, clasping and unclasping her hands. "I have sent for Monsieur le vicomte, as you requested."

Christine turned back to the mirror and continued to brush her hair. "Good…thank you so much, madame."

Giry stood by the door, and Christine looked at her in the mirror, wondering why she had not left yet. "Oh….Christine he is here."

Christine froze, placing the brush down slowly. "Here? Already?"

Giry nodded, her eyes solemn. "Mademoiselle Daae…Christine…please be careful….a man's pride can be…a dangerous thing….."

Christine met her eyes slowly, wondering if she knew that she had been visiting her tutor. She couldn't. Christine dismissed her with a curt nod, and spoke into the mirror. "Would you be so kind as to show him in, madame?"

Giry turned towards the door and nodded, obviously to Raoul, who rushed past her and into the room, kneeling at Christine's feet. He reached for one of her small hands and held it in his.

"Christine…dear….I wanted to apologize for that night on the roof. I acted rather brutishly, and…."

Christine cut him off with a wave of her free hand. "Raoul, you needn't apologize for that…it is I who must….for the way that you were treated." She cleared her throat and continued. "As you know, the Opera Ghost had kidnapped me after the Hannibal performance."

Raoul nodded; everyone knew that.

"I am afraid he released me with the condition that I would one day return to him, and be…his. He has pursued me relentlessly, forbade me to be in the presence of men outside of the other chorus and actors, and insisted that I rebuke any potential suitors. So you see I am trapped, Raoul."

Raoul looked down at her small hand, wrapped in his two palms. Christine looked away and continued. "I did not mean to be so unkind to you that night. In fact, just the opposite. I was hoping we our….relationship…."

Raoul knitted his brows together and spoke to her. "I thought you believed you only had a friend's love for me."

Christine's throat was suddenly dry. She would have to convince him otherwise, her and Erik's future depended on it. It would be her most challenging role to date.

"You said, Raoul, that I hadn't given you the chance." She leaned down to him, her eyes taking his in. She spoke again, her voice deep; no more than a whisper. "I am prepared to grant you that chance."

Raoul's lips met her own as he uttered her name. "Christine…."

All she could think of was that her angel would not love her after this. He would be so angry that she was kissing Raoul! He would be furious!

She tried to enjoy herself, but Raoul's kisses were more selfish than Erik's. Almost immediately he sought to thrust his tongue into her mouth, and although she struggled to close her lips, he ultimately won. Would Raoul make love like this as well? Plundering ahead, taking what was 'his' with little mind for his partner's feelings and pleasure?

Christine fought to put the idea of making love to Raoul out of her mind. She thought she had missed her childhood friend until she realized something. Raoul had been brought up with every luxury; he was quite spoiled. He had a mother's, father's, and brother's unconditional love. He had an estate with every luxury he could want. He always had his way. Always. Did he think he would have his way with her?

His tongue was gently surging in and out of her mouth as he rose to her level, leaning her back slowly onto the chair. He broke the kiss to begin to place small kisses to her neck.

Panic shot through her mind. Was she supposed to pretend to enjoy this? Should she let this carry on? Would he want more?

She placed her hands on his chest and pushed. He ceased kissing her neck and looked in her eyes. "Christine….," he said quietly as he moved for another kiss. She tilted her head so his lips met her cheek. Raoul sighed and sat back on his legs, squatting.

"What, Christine," he spoke, his voice hinting at anger.

"Nothing, Raoul. I…just….this is not decent."

Raoul smiled at her, moving one of his legs so he was on one knee. He reached for her hand and held it. "Christine….darling….I cannot think of my life without you. I have known you since you were a child….I feel the same love for you know as I did then, but it is…greater…"

He looked down, fumbling around into his pocket and she followed his eyes. He procured a ring; a beautiful ring, one large stone surrounded on all sides by smaller ones.

"Christine Daae…would you do me the honor of becoming my wife?"

Christine smiled but she felt as if her face would crack. This was surely not something she would have expected. What should she do? She knew she had to preserve the integrity of Erik's plan and she took a deep breath as she uttered a single word.

"Yes."


	19. Chapter 19

It was the eve of Le Bal Masque, the masquerade gala the Opera Populaire offered once a year. Christine would accompany Raoul, naturally since she was his fiancé. Erik had planned the entire thing, and made corrections if something should not go as planned. He was completely prepared for this evening. He had been looking forward to it for several days, as it would give him the opportunity to look at her once more.

They had planned it so well, down to the last detail, and he was certain they would soon be reunited. The memory of her lips on his was enough to cause the familiar deep stirrings within him. He tried to forget the feel of her legs, open and welcome beneath his weight. To stay away from her was torture, but torture he must endure if they were to be together.

He smoothed his hair back and fitted the skeleton's mask over his face. Glancing at the mirror, he actually felt himself dashing. Perhaps he felt confidence due to her acceptance of him. He was slowly starting to feel like a man; a man like any other.

Buttoning up the last gold cufflinks on his red death costume, he tried to clear his mind of any thoughts, save for the plan.

Several hours later he interrupted the bloody masquerade ball with the fury of hell behind him. He saw Raoul de Chagny, with his arm about her small waist, and nearly forgot who and where he was. Don Juan was carelessly thrown to the floor in front of the managers, and he taunted both Carlotta and Piangi as he'd always wanted to. As he approached Christine, he noted somehow her beloved vicomte was nowhere to be found. They had a moment, it seemed, where they were lost in the other's eyes. Christine smiled at him gently as he stood before her; smiled at him in that subtle girlish way she first had when he took her hand and guided her through the mirror. She took a step in, walking towards him, and for a moment, he was lost. Her face grew serious as all of a sudden he knew what he had to do. Glancing to the gaudy bauble she wore on a chain about her neck, he knew in an instant how to not only aid their plan, but anger the vicomte as well.

Grabbing the ring and ripping it from her neck, he bellowed, "your chains are still mine…you belong to me!"

Then he saw the foppish boy out of the corner of his eye, and using the magic he'd practiced in India, set off his smoke powder, and vanished through the trap door in the floor of the opera house.

The boy followed, but of course was stuck in his torture room of mirrors. Erik gleefully watched him struggle until, he noted with disappointment, Giry managed to pull him out.

Erik moved down the hallways and corridors to his abode. He would change, and then meet Christine at their rendezvous point.

Christine stood in her dressing room. Only a few hours until she would see him again. No one suspected their plan, she was sure of it. She moved to her chaise where she had placed her mourning gown, and draped it over her arm. How long had it been? Several days only, yet it seemed like weeks since she had seen Erik. _Erik_. She didn't know what she thought when she was around him. Her feelings for him scared her, for they were almost too intense to be her own.

Walking over to the mirror, the dress still in her arms, she thought. 'Could I be a wife?', and more importantly, 'could I be _his_ wife?' The corners of her mouth turned up at the sides as she smiled to herself. She thought to herself how she might just become one of those lucky girls she dreamed of. A woman who married for love, and received a husband who was attentive, respectful, and would never leave her side. She turned away from the mirror as she felt the blush creep into her cheeks. Would they wait until after marriage….

Raoul was worried for her. After safely escorting her to her dressing room, he moved about the empty stage, checking every corner and crevice for that monster. He would make sure to protect her any way he could, and, at any cost.

Christine handed the bag of coins to the stable hand, and simply said, "to the cemetery." Little did she know that Erik would later grab the man and replace him. They took off in a gallop, heading for her father's grave.

Christine got out of the carriage unassisted, and walked through the many stone monuments, making her way slowly towards her father's resting place. It was only fitting that the one place she should be able to find sanctuary was where the person she loved the most now rested.

Her eyes stung and she reached her hand up to brush back the tears. It was funny, in a sad way, how the years did nothing to dull the pain which she knew would always exist. Yet more tears fell, as she heard the voice she loved so much say, "allow me."

There he was, in front of her. Erik, so tall and strong, and comforting. He reached his gloved hand to her face and gently wiped the trail of tears from her eye. She responded by burying her face in his broad chest and sobbing. He did not speak to her, nor move to stop her; he simply afforded her the luxury of himself to cry on. When she was finished, she pulled back of her own accord, and he wiped the moisture from her face once more. He was doing this when she slowly moved her arm to the back of his head and pulled him to her. He stilled. "No, we mustn't. Not here. As it is, we cannot stay long."

"How have you come? I see but one carriage."

Erik looked at her and gave her something so uncharacteristic of him. A smile. "Yes, miss Daae. It was I that drove it."

She looked up at him, smiling back. "So everything is still as it was?"

He nodded at her. "Yes. I've made the arrangements. We shan't be able to get out of Paris until the morning after the Don Juan premiere. We shall have to stay hidden below."

_Hidden below_. The words shot up her spine, enveloping her in heat. Would they remain locked in each others arms? Would they be found and the plan go to shame? Would they be parted forever?

Her arms were about him again, and this time he could not fight her. He drank her lips as if he were dying of thirst. She would meet his lips again and again, and he moved his mouth beneath hers, caressing her lips and tongue with his own. His angel. How he had missed her!

He pushed her back gently, looking behind her with apprehension as their breath formed smoke in the cold air. "Christine…he's here…."


	20. Chapter 20

"He can't be….I didn't tell him…"

Erik cut her off, his voice suddenly tight. "Yet he is here all the same."

Christine turned behind her to find Raoul approaching, rapier in hand.

"No, Christine….this man….this _thing_ is not your father."

Erik removed his own rapier but stood his ground. He did not advance until de Chagny struck his opening blow. And then, he engaged.

The two fought. Erik felt his swordsman's skills would be greatly inferior to de Chagny, since he never had fought a living, breathing person before. Clearly, he was mistaken, for the vicomte seemed to make little uncalculated jabs here and there. He was tiring, Erik could tell, but his blows were getting more vicious by the second. They moved among the tombstones quickly, Erik in his controlled stances while the boy swung about wildly. Erik would wait until the boy grew more tired still, then make his move. He felt flames behind the backs of his eyes. Here he was, standing in front of him, his rival, the man who would take Christine from him. He thought these things, and kept them in the back of his mind as he fought.

Christine stood, watching them, unable to move. How had this happened? Raoul was not supposed to interrupt their rendezvous. Her eyes were riveted to Erik's tall, lean form with his expert grace, and yet, as she watched her childhood friend, she could not help but feel sorry for him. She did not wish harm to come to either man.

All of a sudden Erik's blade sunk into Raoul's arm, wounding him. Raoul screamed and pulled back. Erik also jumped back. He hated the boy but he had not meant to harm him; perhaps just scare him? He immediately regretted, and unconsciously turned and walked away when he was run into behind and knocked to the ground, losing his sword in the process.

Now de Chagny pointed his blade at Erik's neck, and Erik avoided his gaze. Instead, he turned his head towards Christine, as if to say, 'my love, goodbye'…

"No Raoul," Christine screamed, running to his side. Trying to reason how she could pull this off, she spoke to Raoul softly. "Not like this."

She then touched his arm, and he lowered the blade, turning, and turning her with him, guiding her to his horse. Christine knew she must play along. She glanced back at Erik over her shoulder, and tried to smile, but found she couldn't. Raoul helped her mount the horse and with a final glance at Erik, still on the snow, Raoul spurred the horse and off they went. Tears gathered in the corners of her eyes, but she did not move to flick them away; she didn't want Raoul to see.

Erik lay on the ground for several moments more. He stood up slowly, reliving the past few moments in his head over and over again. She was gone. She had gone with the boy. He realized she was merely doing what she thought would save them, but it hurt. She had to defend him from the foppish boy! How unmanly she must think him! Then again, the only reason Raoul had indeed got the better of him was because he afforded the boy some sympathy.

As he made his way to the carriage, his thoughts were consumed by her. He would not see her for several days now, and he worried for her. He hoped that the boy would not try anything on his beloved.

"Where have you been, Raoul?" Christine asked innocently rising from her dressing room table at his entrance.

"I've been speaking to Mssrs. Andre and Firmin about that monster."

"Oh," she said, looking at the floor. "And what did they say?"

"They are as eager as I am to catch the fellow. Mssr. Firmin told me that originally, he found the sensation of an opera ghost to be fruitful to the Opera's popularity, but now that the man has committed murder, he just wishes the ordeal to be over."

Christine looked at him, her eyes wide. "So you mean to arrest him then?"

Raoul let out a small chuckle. "They mean to hang him."

Erik had ridden the carriage south of the cemetery until he came upon St. Terese's church. It was a small, country church, more humble than any church one would encounter in Paris proper. Erik had not been inside a church ever, but he knew Christine's faith was strong, and for her, he would reorder time if he could.

He pulled open the heavy door, to be comforted with blessed warmth. It was a nice welcome from the bitter cold. He stood for a moment, regarding the insides. The church had wooden steeples, set at right angles to each other holding up the ceiling. The pews were wooden too, and simple, not overly elaborate. He had to hold his breath as he moved forward, towards the altar. He knew what everything in a church was called, and even a little of Jesus and his teachings, for Christine never tired of indulging him in her religion.

His boots made loud scratching noises as he trod on the stone floor. He approached the altar, and looked at the statue of Christ on the cross. His body looked to be in such pain that Erik wondered at all what this religion could be about. But it struck him all the same; a man, with nails through his hands and feet, and yet a look of sheer joy on his face. He felt his head lower involuntarily and he spoke a silent prayer. 'Please-'. It was all he could get out.

A door to the right of the altar opened, and an old man who walked with a limp glanced around before settling his gaze on Erik. Erik, startled, instinctively put his hand over the mask and turned from the priest. The priest approached him slowly.

"I am Father Luc," he spoke, offering Erik a weak old smile. "I thought I heard someone come in. It has been awhile since we have had visitors. Most people prefer the finer churches in Paris," he noted, with a hint of sadness.

Erik bowed his head, unsure of what to do. "Father…my face…"

The old priest interrupted him. "We are all created equal in God's eyes."

Erik slowly dropped his hand, leaving the mask on. "Father, I need your help."

Father Luc regarded the man. What on earth would this masked man need him for?

"There is a woman…a Catholic woman. I love her, Father. She is Catholic, and I am not."

The priest spoke. "What were you raised then? What religion?"

Erik lowered his head again. "I was orphaned. My only religious instruction comes from this woman."

Father Luc's heart went out to the man. "I see. Tell me, how can I be of assistance?"

Erik cleared his throat. "I wish to marry this woman. I know that to be married in a church is very important to her. I do not know if this can happen."

The priest smiled at the man, appreciating his concern for his bride to be. "Yes, my son, you must be baptized Catholic, and then you will be free to marry."

Erik looked at him, tears in his eyes. He pointed to the mask. "And this makes no difference?"

Father Luc smiled and extended his hand to the man. "My son, a mask makes no difference whatsoever."

Erik grasped his hand firmly, as the priest spoke again, leading him towards the rectory. "You have several moments free?"

Erik nodded, thankful and unbelieving of the old priest's kindness and Father Luc continued, "Now…tell me your story…you must start at the beginning…."


	21. Chapter 21

Christine had wondered what Erik must be thinking. To have left with Raoul that quickly, and to not be able to get word to Erik….it was torture. She hoped that he knew that her decision to leave with Raoul was only to protect them both. She was simply acting, as if it had been any role in any opera. Yet it was all too real.

Raoul had been insistent that he see her each day. Every time she went with Raoul to supper, or a show, or simply for tea, she tried to come up with some malady or excuse that could suddenly befall her, forcing her to leave his company. She knew that she would not be able to do this much longer; Raoul might start to suspect something was amiss.

As it drew closer to the opening of Don Juan, Christine became increasingly unsettled. When she saw Erik, would those feelings come back? Would he be upset with her? Would he not continue their plan? And also, she worried about the success of their plan. Any number of things could go wrong, endangering one or both of them, and although it was a risk she was willing to take, she knew if caught, that Erik would probably not live. A shiver came up her spine.

Having to deal with Raoul's attentions and affections was driving her mad! He was always too eager to kiss her or pull her to him in some unwanted display of affection. It made her stomach upset, but she acted everything with such bravado she doubted he knew. She wondered what Raoul would try to do to get her back. A large part of the success of their plan depended on Raoul believing that she was "abducted" during Don Juan, and did not willingly go with Erik.

She put her hands over her ears in a sudden motion, as if she could still her restless mind by some external action. The blood pounded in her ears, and she willed herself to think of nothing. That of course never works, so she thought of Erik instead.

She wanted to be with him badly; these past few days apart had cemented that in her mind. But also, she found she not only wanted him mind and soul, she wanted him physically as well. It surprised and shocked her, these wanton, evil thougths!

She wanted to feel the way she felt when he kissed her. That fire that began low in her stomach and traveled to her extremities. She wanted to run her hands over his broad shoulders and have him move above her. She wanted to learn how to make love to him, how to be with him as closely as possible. She wanted to take his body into hers. At first, she had become upset thinking of the pain and unpleasantness of the whole situation. The more she dwelled on it, the more those feelings were replaced by…_heat_.

She wished they could marry first, but she would not place any additional demands on him; she loved him far too much for that. With a small sigh, she went about separately laying out the pieces of her Amnita costume. As she moved the skirt, corset, and blouse, she looked at each of them and wondered, 'I am putting you on myself….will it be he who removes you?'.

Eventually her head began pounding with a mixture of anticipation and worry, and she hat to sit down and have Emmanuelle bring her something for it.

Erik dressed in a copy of Piangi's Don Juan costume. His was probably half the size, he noted with amusement as he pulled on the black breeches. As he dressed, his mind was racing with thoughts. Would Christine be down here with him shortly? Or, would something go horribly wrong and he be captured?

The mere thought of a chance of a life with her was enough to make him realize that risking everything was his only recourse.

He smiled to himself, an action he rarely did, when he thought of how he would tell her that they were going to a church to be married. It would come as a welcome surprise, he was sure of it.

His Christine was not just any woman; he would not have her while she was unwed. It simply wouldn't do. It meant he was selfish enough to sweep her beliefs under the table and proceed in a manner and fashion he deemed appropriate. Logistically, running off to the small church was a better idea altogether; provided they were able to take a carriage and be gone before anyone left the Opera House, for he doubted anyone would be able to find them. There was a small cottage perhaps five kilometers from the church which he had engaged for their first night together, as man and wife. Father Luc had told him of the place when Erik had informed him of his worries.

Erik was glad he met the priest for so many reasons. Religion to him still was not as important as to Christine, but Erik had been moved by the man's compassion. He had baptized him Catholic, and given him his first penance. Erik remembered how he had been reduced to tears as he told the priest he had committed murder, and instead of judging or running to find a gendarme, the priest had told him simply that he had the grace of God about him to even admit this, and also that he would not be eternally damned. Perhaps in Father Luc, Erik had found an unwitting friend. He was the only man he had ever seen that did not respond to him in fear and revulsion. He hoped one day he could thank the old priest for his counsel and help.

He buttoned up the shirt partially, leaving it open at the top as was the fashion in Don Juan's time. Whenever that was. The snug waistcoast was added next, and finally, he pulled the small black mask over his face. There was still much to do. Erik needed to hitch a horse and carriage before the performance.

He sighed, as he took a look around his lair. It would be the final time he ever set eyes on it. He carefully tucked all the paper money he had into his costume pockets, and several secret areas he had stitched himself. He wanted to make sure he did not need to return for anything. With one sad last look around, at all the music, and portraits of Christine, he moved to the diorama, took a nearby candle, and set everything aflame.


	22. Chapter 22

The gendarmes were in their obedient positions at all entrances and exits of the massive Opera House. It seemed all of Paris was there due to the recent speculation about the Opera Ghost.

So, Christine was supposed to be luring Erik to his untimely capture and demise, when in reality, Erik had anticipated that she would be made to do this, and so, his plan still stood ready to be executed.

Taking a single red rose from her vase in her dressing room, Christine placed it in her prop basket and prepared to position herself backstage.

It seemed all too soon that the chorus had exited, paving the way for her entrance. A thousand and one thoughts passed through her head as she began to sing.

No thoughts within her head, but thoughts of joy

No dreams within her heart, but dreams of love…

……..

Erik, having not strangled, but choked Piangi into unconsciousness, moved out of the shadows of the stage parapet, and onto the mainstage.

The look in his eyes captured her immediately. The heat was unmistakable; almost palpable. He had not seen her, it seemed, in eternity, and his mind and body both wanted her.

He fixed her in his gaze and proceeded to begin his section of the aria. He noted that her face took on a look of amusement, almost as if they were sharing a secret together onstage. He approached her from behind, trailing his fingers lightly down her arms, clasping her tiny hand at the end.

She was so close he could smell her. Not her perfume, or the roses, but _her_… Something hot flashed in his eyes as she began her part of the aria, and they moved to the stairs and began their ascension.

She seemed to pause at the top of the stairs, before slowly crossing the bridge, walking towards him. He did not remember moment to moment what happened; it was more a series of blurred images occurring behind his eyes.

Now he took her hands and spun her possessively into him, trailing his hands over her warm, firm breasts. He let his hands drift to her stomach, and rest there. His head involuntarily fell backwards as he savored the feel of her body through her dress. Would he be peeling this very garment off her delicate shoulders in a few hours? Would she be his _wife_?

Erik was so engrossed in his thoughts he forgot to release Christine, but he was startled back into reality when he felt her strain against him. Immediately he released his grip on her and she turned to him, ready to begin a deadly series of choreographed events; any one of which, if not carried out correctly, could mean their downfall.

He closed his eyes as he felt the mask being lifted from his face.


	23. Chapter 23

He could hear the shrieks coming from the audience. The gendarmes fled up the aisles of the opera house. He had involuntarily lowered his head, afraid to look upon Christine's face for fear she would be repelled by his ugliness. A small, warm palm on the bad side of his face made him lift his eyes to meet his love's. Instead of being met with revulsion, he was met with kindness; a single tear drifted down her face, almost as though she realized how hard his life must have been with such a disfigurement. Her eyes turned serious all of a sudden, and he realized it was time. Pulling his saber from the sheath at his hip, he pulled Christine to him, using the sword to loose the rope holding the magnificent chandelier. As it came crashing down towards the hysterical audience, he cut the remaining rope holding them up. The trap door fell then, and they were plunged into oblivion.

Christine was not sure of anything, but she ran. She ran as if she was being chased by a lion. She grasped his hand, struggling to keep his pace, a pace marked by his long strides.

"Erik," she gasped, "I need to stop."

He turned to her and kept moving. "We haven't the time, love."

"_Please_."

He stopped, turning to her. They could rest; they were close to his lair, and they would be safe there. She looked down at her hands, then pulled his Don Juan mask from her corset. She extended an outstretched hand. Erik looked down at it, his mouth turning up into a sneer at the edges.

"So, I disgust you now, Miss Daae…do I?" he spat out angrily, grabbing the mask from her and thrusting over his face as he moved forward. They were so close to his lair.

"No..Erik, I….Erik!" she called after him, but he was far ahead of her.

He moved through the heavy iron door at the edge of his lair. "Miss Daae, I am about to shut this door, keeping out everyone. I am assuming you wish to remain on the opposing side." He started pushing the heavy door closed.

"Erik, wait!" She called running towards the door, but he seemed to pay her no mind. "No, Erik!"

The door was halfway shut when she squeezed her slight form inside. Erik immediately stopped as he saw her round the door, then finished closing it.

His voice took on a sadder sound. "Christine, I will not hold you to our engagement. I will not force you to be mine." Gesturing up the hallway he spoke quietly, "you are free to go." With that, he turned on his heel and moved to the organ.

His words had stung her. It was true, she had been shocked when she removed his mask. To see one side so flawlessly beautiful, the other, hideous. But she had not wanted him to see her surprise as she removed the mask, and did her best to disguise it. Handing it back to him had just seemed like the decent thing to do, as he was so ashamed of it.

"Erik….I….I wish to become your wife still….even after this."

He did not look back at her, but he spoke. "Christine….I realize now how foolish we have been. I have nothing to offer you," he turned suddenly, pointing to his face, "but this." His lips curled as the tears began to form at the corners of his eyes. "I will not taint our love with this. I will not let you throw away your life for my love. I will not allow it."

His voice had raised; it was angry. She was still panting, but her tears of sadness had turned to tears of anger. "You will not allow it? Who are you to make my decisions?", she spat back, vehemently.

He strode to her menacingly, crossing the distance in two strides. "I will not allow this," he spoke lowly, his tone horridly cold. Christine looked up into his eyes, so cold, and she saw something change as he watched her tear roll down her face. His eyes softened, and she spoke calmly and surely. "Then I shall have to take it from you."

She met his lips in a warm kiss as she pulled him to her gently. His resolve melted beneath her lips, as she opened them, welcoming his tongue. His hands went to her waist as he deepened the kiss, making her emit a small sound from the back of her throat. He pulled her closer, wrapping his arms around her, both of them needing more from the other. What it was, she didn't know, but had a fairly good idea.

She had her hands on the open sides of his shirtfront, and she turned so her back was to his bed, across the room. Christine gently walked backwards, pulling him with her, until the backs of her knees met with the sides of the massive bed. She turned, glancing behind her, and then looked back to him, tugging gently at his shirt, indicating she wanted him to follow. He held back for a moment. "Christine," he spoke between kisses, "I went to St. Terese's. Do you know it?"

She shook her head no. "It is a small Catholic church, not far from where your father lies."

Her eyes opened in remembrance. "Yes, I do know it…I believe the service for my father was there…..I was so young….."

His hand moved to the back of her head, slowly kneading. The passion of the moment was lost to tenderness. "I engaged a priest to perform a wedding ceremony tomorrow."

No sooner had the words slipped from his mouth than her head was in her hands.

"Shhh," he spoke as he pulled her form to his shoulder. "I told you I would release you from our engagement."

She pulled back immediately, her eyes shining. "No, Erik, you misunderstand…..I…..I cannot believe you did this for me….it is the most wonderful thing anyone has ever done….", her voice trailed off as she pulled his lips to hers again.

She fit so well between the spread-v of his thighs. She was so small; holding her like this, kissing her like this was beyond magnificent.

Again, her hands went to his shirt front and he felt a gentle tug. Again, he stopped her.

"Christine," he asked, looking into her face. She pulled him back into another kiss before he could get any other word out. "Erik…..it's time….."


	24. Chapter 24

"Christine-" he was able to choke out before she met his lips with her own, her tongue gently reaching out to touch and caress his own. His breathing grew ragged as he allowed her to pull him on top of her on his bed. She released him from her grasp as her brow knitted. He, in response, drew his eyebrows together, silently asking her what was wrong.

"Erik--I-", he moved over her again, smothering her mouth with a greedy kiss.

"I...I know I want to do this, but I don't know..."

He silenced her with another kiss, but responded moistly, "Neither do I...I am more worried about disappointing you than you could ever be..."

"But I wouldn't know, now would I?" she responded, her eyes closed, waiting for another kiss. He did not give her one, but instead looked at her face until her eyes opened. He brought his face to her ear, whispering, " I would hope that you would do whatever it is you feel. That would be enough for me, my love."

The proximity of his mouth to her ear, her neck, made her melt. She felt the breath at the side of her neck, and the stirrings in her lower belly. She boldly brought her mouth to the side of his neck, kissing, tasting, sucking at the skin until he moaned, a loud, long moan. He shifted above her and she suddenly felt what it was she was afraid of. That part of his anatomy which she feared. He felt her tense beneath him, even as he kissed her. Immediately, he knew what it was, and sat up, pulling her with him, growing slightly red in the process. "I-" he started, but she held a finger to his lips.

"Erik, it...it is only natural," she said, blushing as she looked away.

"No, it is my fault...I move at too quick of a pace..."

"No...I am unsure...of how to bring you pleasure-"

"My love, think not on my pleasure. Only on yours."

His hand went to the back of her neck, pulling her lips to his once more. His trousers had become unbearably tight, and the fact that she was even thinking of giving herself to him this evening had him in an intense state of arousal. Their kissing had become tender again, as if they were trying to express their mutual love, rather than their passion.

She gently pulled him down, so they both lay on their sides, facing each other. Erik stared into her eyes for a long time, and Christine laced her fingers between his; their hands near their waists. She was taking shallow breaths; he could tell from her corset. Her eyes were glazed, beautiful, reflecting the fire in his soul. He moved in for another kiss, and she met him halfway.

She drew back, breathless. "Erik...then...," she cleared her throat, "...do you...are you going to move on top of me?"

He looked down at her, his brows together. Really, he was unsure. He knew that technically that should work just as well as any position they could take, but how would he support his weight? Was he to be on his hands and feet? His hands and knees? "Do you want me to?", he asked her gently.

Christine looked away, then back to his eyes, nodding. His right hand separated from hers, reaching behind her to grasp her gently by the neck. As they kissed he moved her until her back was against the bed and his weight was distributed between his hands, as they sank into the soft mattress. His mouth drew down towards her neck, savoring her soft smell and the silky skin as he kissed her there, tasted her. She moved her head to the side, exposing more neck to his mouth as she let out a small moan. He stayed at the skin there, enjoying how these simple touches and kisses of his could make her hips start to move against him. She arched her back once, twice, a third time...

He unhooked the first several hooks and eye closures at the top of the corset. She watched his fingers moving, intensely aroused by the deliberate way he flicked each hook and eye open slowly, as if she should beg for more. She closed her eyes and leaned back into the pillows as she felt her nipples harden in the cool air of the underground.

Erik had not seen her breasts. He had not seen any breasts, in fact. She was beautiful. He placed his hands at her shoulders, slowly running them down her body. He noted as he brushed past her nipples, she clenched and unclenched her legs; their outline visible beneath her gown. Unable to touch them with simply his hands, so rough and callused, he instead brought his mouth to her left breast. At the moment he met her nipple with his hot mouth, she let out a soft scream, opening her eyes as a strange feeling shot to the place where her legs met. He pulled away, and the full nipple again shrank in the cooler air of his home. She looked down at him, and pulled his head back towards her breast. Erik was suprised at her boldness, and, naturally, aroused. He treated the other nipple to the same torment, as he felt her shift underneath him so one leg was on either side. As his mouth continued to suck at her breast, he felt her arch up against his body and grind her pelvis to his already swollen member.

"Stop-" he hissed softly, his head still at her chest. "Christine...please, love...do not move against me...I...I cannot hold on..."

"Erik," she cried out, on the verge of tears, " I need to do it..." her voice drifted off as she brought her hips against his. He moved his mouth further down to her stomach, pushing his groin farther away from hers, so she could rub against his lower stomach. Suddenly noting her movements, he ran a hand up her leg to her thigh. Immediately, she stopped, quivering in anticipation. He slowly moved his hand further upwards, and then he felt wetness. The low moan which escaped her lips let him know he had done something right. He touched the wetness of her undergarments, and she moved against him.

All of a sudden, she sat up. "Erik...are you disgusted by my..." she blushed, "...my response to you-"

He cut her off, pushing her gently back into the bed, "my love, on the contrary, your response to me is extraordinary...don't stop..."

He kissed her again, then, and placed his hand where it had been as she continued to make small motions against it. He felt the wetness increase, and pulled aside the drawers, placing his palm flat against her, unsure of what to do. She hissed as she felt his warm hand connect with her swollen wetness. She moved against his hand several times, and he felt something. She seemed to grind the upper half of her femininity into him, and he felt something like a small pebble. He touched it directly, and she yelped, crying out.

"Did I hurt you," he asked, seriously.

"No...I...it is intense when you touch me directly like that...so...intense..."

He touched her gently there, and she moaned. Remembering how she had reacted to his mouth on her nipple, and what he had read in all those books on lovemaking, he brought his mouth to the spot he had read about, and presumably found, and gently reached his tongue out to touch her in that sacred spot.

"Erik--what are you?-" she cried out, trying to sit up, but he held her.

"Lay back," he commanded, completely unsure of what he was doing, but letting his instincts guide him. He gently lapped at her swollen bud with his tongue, each flick eliciting either a moan, a shift of her hips, or a combination of the two.

He continued his delicious torment, until, he noted with extreme arousal, that she was in fact pushing herself farther onto his face, pushing herself closer to him. Her hips bucked against him until he had to use his arms to hold her down.

Christine felt as if she was approaching something. It was an exquisite mixture of pleasure and pain. Looking down at his beautiful face in her feminine curls, she couldn't help herself any longer, and felt her world explode. It was unlike anything she had ever felt before.

Erik had felt her cry out, arch her back, and spasm, yet he had not known she had come to completion until he heard her speak huskily, "stop, Erik...stop." Her hands went to his shoulders, gently pushing him from her. He looked at her, and saw the tears in her eyes.

"Tears, angel?" he asked.

"Erik...tears of...joy. This is all so new to me. I didn't know...I had no idea I could...do that. No, Erik, these are...tears of...happiness."

She lay back gently, completely calm, a slight smile on her lips. She pulled his hand towards her chest. He could feel her heartbeat racing. She wanted him to feel her racing pulse. He rest his head on her lower abdomen and watched her, until her eyes fluttered open.

"But Erik...you haven't..."

He brought a finger to her lips. "Shhh---"

He smiled at her gently, then rose from his bed. He reached for his trousers, stepping into them.

"Erik, what are you-?"

He cut her off before she could continue. "Miss Daae. I believe there is a wedding I must prepare for."

As she watched his long, lean form cross the room, pulling on clothes, she smiled to herself. She was, for the first time in a long time, very happy.


	25. Chapter 25

It was difficult, having to wait until he knew the gendarmes had given up their pursuit of them. Erik sighed. Christine had curled up into a fetal position, and now rest; a small smile barely discernable upon her face. A curl suddenly dropped from behind her ear and fell straight down, dropping across her nose. Erik reached out to move it, but stopped the minute before his hand would touch it. He did not want to touch her. She was far too beautiful for him to dare soil her porcelain beauty. And yet, in a few hours, she would be...his wife.

The thing Erik loved the most about Christine was perhaps her mutual adoration of him. Erik had always been prone to bouts of self pity, loathing, and doubt, yet, when he was around Christine, he felt wanted...no, _needed_. He felt unworthy, yet at the same time, worthy. She made him feel that he should be allowed to find hapiness. That his face should not be the cause of any additional pain. He had, finally, found a sense of belonging. And it was all because of her.

He gently tucked the curl behind her ear, moving his hand down to gently stroke the soft skin at the side of her neck. He leaned close to her ear. "It is safe now, cherie. We can leave."

He kissed her gently there, at the place where her ear and neck met, and her eyelids fluttered. She rolled over onto her back, one arm going behind her head, stretching herself. "It is time then, Erik," she said, smiling lazily at him.

Erik stood, bending at the waist, holding both hands out to her to help her up. "It is, Christine."

They made the journey to the horse and carriage in silence, punctuated by Christine's soft giggles here and there as she regarded him. She, of course was remembering what they had been doing several hours before. It was an embarassed sort of giggle.

"Something amusing, Miss Daae," he asked, cocking an eyebrow inquisitively as he laced his fingers through her own. She did not respond, merely looked at him and laughed again.

"Erik-," she started," you make me so...happy."

He responded with a squeeze to her hand.

Several minutes later, and with much caution, they set off to St. Terese's church. Erik drove, of course, and Christine sat in the back, wrapping herself tightly in his cape, trying to shield herself from the bitter cold. Eventually she felt the horses move from a gallop to a canter, and finally to a trot, as they moved towards the humble church. Erik spoke over his shoulder, gesturing with his right hand. "There is a cottage, not very far...that way...I have engaged it for our honeymoon."

Christine blushed, letting her long lashes obscure her eyes. She looked down at her hands, fidgety all of a sudden as she remembered their encounter. It had been...wonderful...

Erik stopped the horses and moved to her side, extending a leather gloved hand in her direction. She took it, and spoke. "Erik, I have no dress-,"

"You are wearing a dress, Christine."

"Yes, but I want to be radiant...for you."

Erik pulled her wrist gently, reaching his hand behind her back, and pulling her to him, possessively. "Christine...there is not a moment you are not radiant. When you dance, when you sleep, as you walk, when you sing...there is no moment when you are not the most beautiful angel this world has ever known. I have to avert my eyes for I am not worthy of such beauty."

Christine felt the sharp sting of tears, as the corners of her mouth turned up into a contented smile. Erik caught the tear, before it began its journey down her cheek. "You will never need to cry again, Christine. From this day forward; I promise you," Erik looked towards the church. "Now, let us go become husband and wife...in God's eyes. For I'm sure you know that I have been your husband in spirit for years now. I have always been yours."


	26. Chapter 26

The candles were the only source of light in the humble church. They had walked inside, escaping the cold, and Erik had motioned for Christine to wait at the back of the structure. Her eyes followed his lean form as he strode down the aisle to the altar, and then to the right through a small door which he closed behind him. The click of the door was the final sound Christine heard, as she became all too aware of the silence which surrounded her.

She glanced to her right, and then her left, her eyes lighting on the portraits of each of the stations of the cross. It had been too long since she had been to a church. Of course, she frequented the small one in the opera house, but this church was somehow magnificent in it's humility. Plain, wooden pews lined either side of the building, and the walls recessed about halfway between the door and the altar to reveal beautiful statues; one of Christ on the cross, the other of the Virgin Mary.

She clasped and unclasped her hands nervously. She felt the tears gathering suddenly, and she could not help it as an errant bit of salt water ran down her cheek. 'He has done this….he has done _all_ this….for me…'

She moved to her right, fingers gingerly tracing the woodwork of the first pew. She crossed herself and kneeled on the knee rest.

'Papa…I'm so sorry you couldn't be here. He has found me, and I know you had some part in sending him to me. I pray you are always with me, just as I know you shall be here as I marry the angel you sent me.'

She was so engrossed in her prayers she flinched slightly as she felt a broad hand on her shoulder. She looked up into Erik's face. He regarded her with a gentle concern in his eyes.

"Christine….Father Luc is ready." He held out his hand to her. "Come….become my wife."

There was not a single thing she could have done in that moment which would have kept the corners of her mouth from turning into one of the largest smiles she was sure she'd ever had on her face.

He walked her slowly down the aisle, his eyes never leaving hers as he studied her with such intensity, she had to look away. Her blush deepened as she tried to imprint that wonderfully serious and smoldering look on his face into her mind for all eternity. It was not something she would want to forget.

Father Luc smiled at her as he lifted the weight of the wedding book of vows. Erik turned to Christine and the world seemed to go away.

She was snapped back into reality when she heard Erik speak; saw his mouth move. "I do."

"And do you, Christine Daae, take Erik Riviere to be your lawfully wedded husband?"

She looked at him; he was smiling now. "I do."

"I now pronounce you husband and wife. You may kiss your bride."

He met her lips in an innocent kiss. Their mouths met for mere seconds, as they both pulled away, conscious of the old priest. She smiled at Erik; surely that was a proper kiss. She hadn't wanted to offend poor Father Luc.

Father Luc finished the rites, " go in peace to love and serve the Lord always."

Erik turned to Father Luc, extending his hand. "Thank you, Father," he said with tears in his eyes, "this has meant more than you can ever know." Then, much to her surprise, he let his hand drift over until he had wrapped Father Luc in an embrace. The old priest seemed surprised and delighted by the younger man's gratitude, and Christine turned to him in turn. "Yes, thank you so much Father…..I shall never forget your kindness…"

Father Luc smiled at the couple, then turned, leading himself to the door which led to the rectory.

Erik pulled her in for a real kiss this time. His lips met hers and he kissed her long and soft, not daring to meet her tongue in a church, but a lovely, lovely kiss.

"I took the name Riviere…I hope you don't mind….."

She silenced him by kissing him again.

"Well, Mrs. Riviere…..I see you are happy…."

"So happy, Erik. I never thought it could be like this."

Erik folded his arm against his side and extended the elbow, meaning for her to take his arm.

"And now…we shall begin our new life," he spoke softly in her ear as the low tones of her voice excitedly raced down her spine.


	27. Chapter 27

Author's note

I'm sorry that this fic, or should I say, _phic_, has been neglected for so long. This is just a quick note to let all you wonderful, faithful readers know that I am going to finish it in the next few days. Stay tuned, and thanks for all the wonderful feedback!


	28. Chapter 28

Dear loyal readers,

Many apologies, as I did promise to continue this story, and then got sidetracked once again. My writing style has changed quite a bit since I started writing this story, but I feel I owe it to you, dear readers, to finish with some tastefully yet exciting eroticism. And then a nice, sappy ending. Feel free to give me comments regarding what you'd like to have happen, as this time I will be finishing the story within the next week or so.


	29. Chapter 29

The carriage ride to the cottage was almost unbearable. Christine's thoughts raced as she thought about what would happen next. Partly apprehensive, mostly excited, she thought about giving herself to her husband for the first time. Giving herself to anyone, really. Christine glanced to Erik, his strong gloved hands grasping the reins fitfully. She felt her cheeks grow hot as she remembered where those hands had been earlier. She closed her eyes and tilted her head back against the wooden rim of the carriage back.

"Are you alright, my angel?", Erik asked her, worried she might be ill.

Chrisitne's eyes opened and she turned to face him. "Yes, my love. I….was just thinking about…well…what comes next."

He turned to her again. "Christine, as I told you before, I will wait for you. I have engaged the cottage solely for the purpose of us spending moments together undisturbed. You need not worry, darling."

Christine smiled at him, and playfully teased, "Now what kind of wife would I be to deny my husband his wedding night?", as she added a coy grin.

"The best kind," Erik said, in all seriousness, and turned back to the task at hand, driving the carriage.

Gradually, the small cottage came into view. It was small, but charming, made mostly of round stones, with shutters and a chimney. Christine's heart sped up as the horse drew nearer.

"Whoa, mon frere," Eric softly spoke to the horse, pulling the reins so the animal knew to halt.

With one last smile, Erik descended the carriage, tethering the horse to the post in front. Then, with his eyes on her, he rounded the side of the carriage and offered her his hand. Christine took it without hesitation, eager to get out of the cold.

Once she was on the snow-covered ground, Erik leaned into her for a soft kiss. It was so gentle it made her knees weak. Taking her by the hand, he led her to the door, turned the key, swept her in his arms, and carried her over the threshold of the cottage, careful to gently place her down once inside.

Christine had been surprised by the gesture, not remembering one is supposed to carry one's wife across the threshold of the home, and started giggling.

"Stay here, my love. I will get a fire started," Eric said, as he busied himself to find wood.

Christine looked up. The cottage inside was much larger than it seemed. The high, beamed ceilings were quite remarkable. It was rustic, cozy, and everything she could imagine for her honeymoon. She walked from the main room into the kitchen, following Erik.

"Take a look at the rest of the cottage, my angel. I will be with you in a few moments."

Christine nodded, watching as Erik removed his coat, and bent to pick up the first of the wood. The muscles in his back shifted and moved with him, and for a moment, she caught herself wondering what it would feel like to be pressed beneath him, her hands on those muscles. She blushed to herself and turned away,

Following the natural layout of the cottage, she wandered into the living area, with it's stone fireplace. There was a door in the back which she supposed led to the bedroom.

She opened the door and gasped. Erik must have been here earlier. That sneak! The curtains had been drawn open to expose a beautiful view of the snowy grounds around them. The bed, covered in crisp white linens, had rose petals strewn about it. Christine felt the beginnings of tears stinging the corners of her eyes. Erik had tried so hard to make this day perfect for her, and the realization of everything he had done for her made her suddenly emotional. Walking to the corner of the bed, she ran her hand along the sheets, touching the rose petals. They felt like velvet, and as she brought one to her nose and breathed in the scent, she was overwhelmed again.

"It is to your liking, then?," Erik asked.

Christine gasped and spun around. She hadn't heard him approaching the bedroom.

"It is, my love. It is more than I ever could have imagined."

Then she looked back down to the bed, running her hand on the covers and she felt the stirrings of heat deep in her belly.

Erik cleared his throat. "I will tend to the fire."

"No," Christine cut him off. She sat on the edge of the bed. "Stay."

Erik shrugged out of his suspenders, and let them hang. He sat next to her in his shirtsleeves and trousers.

He placed his hand on her knee, and she covered it with her own. He looked at her tiny hand on his, and brought them up, kissing the back of her hand.

Christine's free hand clenched into a small fist. She leaned her head against his shoulder and let out a sigh of relief. Their plan had worked. It was over, and they had nothing to worry about. It was as if a great weight had been lifted from her shoulders.

"Eric, I love you so much, " she said, her head still on his shoulder.

He responded by kissing the top of her head, in her hair.

Mustering all her courage, Christine turned her head ever so slightly, and placed a gentle kiss on his neck. The muscles in his body tensed, and she felt it as she moved to kiss him again, loving the scent of his skin, the nearness of him.

He turned her to him in a moment, brought his hand to her cheek and pulled her in for a kiss. It started fairly chastely, but it was almost as if they could not be close enough, for the kiss turned into something fiery. A tangle of lips and tongues and small noises that involuntarily rose. As they kissed, Erik's hands went to the front of her bodice, gently touching her along the top. As her breath caught in her throat, he gently pushed her shoulders, motioning for her to turn her back to him so he could work the laces. The moment she turned she felt his lips everywhere. The side of her neck, the back, her shoulders, kissing and sucking and making it hard for her to breathe and unbearably warm. She had to be free of some of this constraining clothing. Several moments later, the corset had been removed, tossed to the floor, and she remained in her chemise. As Eric unbuttoned his shirt, she removed her undergarments and stockings, careful to leave the main chemise on.

His shirt off, Erik moved in to kiss her again, wanting to taste her everywhere. He moved down to the hem of her gown, drawing it up with him, to do what he had done before which brought her so much pleasure. As he rested his body between her thighs, wanting to taste her she stopped him. "No, Erik…..I…..want to be joined with you."

He looked at her and for a moment it seemed like time stopped. She moved first, drawing her gown the rest of the way up and over her head. His hands went to the front of his trousers, freeing himself before pushing her back into the bed, a mess of kissing and touching and writhing with want.

As he settled his body between her naked thighs, he could feel she was ready for him.

"My angel," he started.

"Erik, " she spoke softly. And nothing else needed to be said. As he pressed himself into her, she barely felt any pain. She felt him deep inside her, completely joined, and as her hands gripped his sweat-slicked back and she moaned into him, she felt she was seeing Heaven.

……………..

Christine had fallen asleep shortly after, and Erik busied himself keeping the fire going, as he sat, amazingly content for the first time in a long time. Walking silently into the bedroom, he looked at his beautiful wife. Naked, except for the sheets covering her, wrapped in rose petals, she never looked lovelier.

She must have sensed his eyes were on her, for she slowly opened hers, letting out a small "oh", and then smiling at him. He smiled back, and then his face became tight with arousal. He approached the bed and his lips were on hers in an instant.

"I apologize, dear wife," he said between moist kisses. "I'm going to have to take you again, my darling Christine."

She smiled into his kiss, and for a moment, they forgot about the outside world as they melted into each other.


End file.
